The Plea

--To The Relatives To The Intimate Friends of James Whitcomb Riley--


Let Lockerbie Street, in its Lovely Brevity,
be held--if you will--as a Perpetual Reservation
for the Children of your Great, your Growing City,
holding the House, which for many years was the
Happy Home of the Poet, as a Sacred Shrine.
Let your fine Civic Building, now rising in its
Majesty--like the Towers of Illion--made possible
by his Generous Gift of the Site, made Glorious
by the touch of his hand, on its Great Cornerstone:
let it--if you will--proudly bear his Name.
Let either one, or both, of these Noble Things
be done, for the sake of his memory.
Let this, that, or any other form of a Memorial wait upon
the wisdom of your Choice: but no matter what is done;
how much is done; or how it is done; there is one Thing
which ought not to be left undone.
Every tender, slender needle, rising out of its
Globular Greenness, in this humble Spray of Kentucky Pine,
harbors this One Thought, this Single Plea!
This is the Plea:

Let James Whitcomb Riley,
skillfully cast in Bronze, simply clad in the plain
blue garb of a Union Soldier Lad a Private--