19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Saturday, August 1, 1914:
The summertime is passing on,
To summers that have gone before.
Life is an ever-changing scene,
Which we would fair explore.
Am beginning to count the days until the 17th beams upon my horizon. Ruth and I went to a festival up in town given for the benefit of the church.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
There are hints about so many things in this diary entry—but so little substance. What is going to happen on the 17th? What did you and your sister Ruth do at the festival? Did you see the person mentioned in yesterday’s diary entry?
. . . Went to a surprise party this evening. It was over at Carrie’s. Enjoyed myself as much as I usually do. I think no doubt remains as to the state of my feelings concerning somebody.
I assume you wrote the poem, but you’re only 19—and in some ways the monthly poem sounds like it was written by someone much older.
For more information about the monthly poems see this previous post: