So divine marriage prevailed, it consisted of taking a person as your mate in the sight of God and when tired of them give them the gate, and daily and nightly they gamboled lightly on the lee, little elfins scantily clad could be seen flitting hither and thither in the moonlight and they held earthly communication in the doorways; in the early mornings could be seen the spirit dance around the red flag of love, and many a bungalow sweetie could be seen looking longingly toward Glasswell Park. It got so bad that the dearies thought they were going to lose their sweet man and they all began to squawk in accents bold.
They yelped so loud that they were heard in Los Angeles, and straightway two noble minions of the law set forth to quiet the rumpus. When they arrived and asked what it was all about, they were informed this was the temple of Helois where the disabled vets were soon to reside and where St. Mary’s cradle was to be founded to care for all the babies that were not otherwise cared for. Here was to be the goat farm to feed said babies that their mothers might commune with the spirits unhampered; here was to be the boat landing where the fishermen would land nightly after their day’s fishing to feed the vets and the other members of the colony. Here was everything.
The law was not satisfied and escorted her forth to durance vile, and accused her of lots of things she didn’t understand, but she remained unruffled and when safely situated in the county hotel, broke forth in a fit of poetry—
Red Is the Color of Love
Because in the hope to save the world,
She had questioned not nor fled,
But only kept the banner unfurled,
Whose only color is red.
For red is the color of love,
And red is the holy one’s desire,