Two white boxes are sitting here, both full of my Granddad's writings. He was quite prolific, and I can see by an initial glance that he worked at it, marking out meters and corrections in pen on typed pages, retaining every draft of poems, stories and articles, and stapling the pages of progress of each work together with the final draft on top. Rejection slips, and I assume acceptance slips (since I know he was published here and there), and various correspondence seem to be all included.
Opening the lid of the top box I pulled the first stapled bunch of papers out, showing on its first page this poem:
Snowfall in the Prairie Night
By Arthur Stilwell
Steadily out of the silent all-dark,
Huge flakes emerge white into my struck gaze,
They enclose me in slow hover of unceasing legions;
Gone of a sudden the tedious clotted earth,
I am in a ballroom floating with the waltz
Of a powdered cloud of sprites and spirits;
Next I enter the jewelry of the milky way,
Dislodged to this new-found place.
For a visionary tremored halt of time,
Vanish bewilderments and questionings.