Author: Carol Welch
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Life and Other Parties

Acceptance
A Christmas Modification
AFriend At Hand
Amandas Departure
April
Arise Jerusalem
Aspirations
Aunts
Away from Home
Baby Smile
Banners
Banners Again
Beautiful Sounds
Before TheHay Grows Tall
Blessed Dilemma
Boomer
Bossy Memories
Bro
By Grace
Candidate
Change of Heart
Choke cherries
Christmas Frog
Christmas Home coming
Christmas Joy
Christmas Morning in the Barn
Crossing
Cyber Dance
Dancing Years
Dandelion Fluff
Dandelions
Death Knell
Deployment
Disillusioned
Easter Morning
Egg Hunt
Enchanted Endurance
End of Shift
Fair ime
Farmers Song
Fickle Autumn Wind
Fire flies
Fire on the Ice
First Holiday
First Spring Breeze
Friend
Gift
Gift of Faith
Glass Dish
Good Night Kiss
Graduation
Grand daughters
Grand sons
Hauling Wood
Hey Brother
Holding
Hope
Humorous Hunt
Husband
Intrigue
Its Coming
Klutzy Focus
Late Blessing
Lawn Thoughts
Layers
Lazy Mans Thread
Learning to Dance
LetLive
Living that Way
Loveona Tree
Maori
Maturity
May
Memory
Moon light Example
Morning Call
Mothers In law
Nag
Names
Nancy
New Day
Night Hunt
Nontraditional Student
Not a Romance
Notation
NotProse
Of a Soiled Postcard Or Raised Postal Rates
Of Food and Jail
OfWorth
On Dietrichs Hill
Organization
OtherFoot
Our Older Home
Paradox
Party
Points
PonyBoy
Precious Persuasion
Progressive Dinner
Putting Away Christmas
Putting Away Summer Things
Rare One
Rat Race
School Again
Season Change
Seasons
Shapes
Shared
Shared light
Shining Perspective
Singing Summer
Singing With Dad
Sing With Me
Sing You Home
Smudged Angel
Snow and Soul
Songs in the Night
Sunday Wash
TakenIn
Telephone Friends
Temporary Solution
Thanksgiving
The Ancient Bagel
The Kite
The Meeting
The Plan
The Real Santa
The Remedy
The Snow Plow
Time Change
To A Courteous Driver
Today
Toddler Morning
Transfer
Vision
Waiting
Wednesday November
Welcoming Spring
What Manner of Love
Wild flowers
Wild Geranium
Winter Coup
Winters Demise
Wishes for Daughters
WithYou
Wonderful Choices
Words
Youth

Acceptance

I watched you turn up warm, moist earth;
I spaded raked, and hoed.
I bought bright-colored, packaged seed,
Planted them row by row.

I watched the little plants come up
And loved them every one.
I walked in fragrant, fresh-mowed grass
And warmed in the summer sun.

I waited for the blessed rain
To moisten the parched ground.
Enjoyed the moments one by one
In feeling, sight and sound.

The sunshine, flowers, birds, and grass
Show signs of shortening days.
The rain comes down, spitting like fall,
And dawns hide in a haze.

I hate to turn my back on times
Of sunshine, plant, and hoe.
As you walk into winter,
I don't want to go.

An evening walk to say goodbye
And see the summer go,
And I, who love the summer sun,
Am kissed by stars of snow.

A Christmas Modification

We'll go and cut our own tree, what a pleasure!
We'll get it with the horses and the sleigh.
Our first Christmas really will be special
With a tree from our own woods on Christmas Day.

So, harness up old Dolly and old Shorty,
And get the bow saw to cut down the tree.
They all look so lush and beautiful from here;
One that's just perfect won't be hard to see.

The sleighride across the fields was such a thrill,
Laddie barking just as always in those times.
Noses and fingers started to get colder
Even before we reached the stand of pines.

They either seemed to have such big, wide bottoms
Or so few branches higher for their size.
As it got colder, we seemed to be less fussy
Therefore we settled on a compromise.

So we cut down a white pine and put it on the sleigh box,
Though it extended far on either side.
We tried to hold it up so that its needles
Would not all rub off on the half-mile ride.

We sized it up a bit more as we rode along,
Trying to hold it from the snowy crust.
When we got it to the house we quickly saw
Some major adjustments were to be a must.

Hauling it into the roomy kitchen,
Even corner-wise, it wouldn't fit
Partly outside, we had to make our minds up
Would we use the bottom or the top of it?

We saw that it was slimmer halfway up,
And that the top leaned over to one side.
The star could be used to disguise the cut;
No time to waste; we needed to decide.

Again, the temperature sped our decision.
The old bow saw was rapidly applied.
We gladly shut the door on freezing winds
And put the slightly off-side top outside.

We've never said it was the prettiest tree ever,
The decorations sparse and humble too,
But we just sat and happily snuggled by it
Our first Christmas when married life was new.

A Friend At Hand

You've gone beyond the clouds, they say,
And so we look up when we pray;
And yet, when people show they care,
I feel Your presence surely there.

When man protects his brother's right,
You're there with him in Godly might.
When neighbors lend a helping hand
To him who needs support to stand;

When man decries the cruel war
When words of reason might do more;
When we feel anger for what's not fair
And are moved our sustenance to share

With suffering brother near or far;
You're here and not beyond some star.
When in some way I do my part,
I feel you there within my heart.

Whenever a wasted, broken soul
Is helped to make a life that's whole
And gives of self that others may
Share a happy, worthwhile day;

When a person for another strives,
You're there working in their lives.
When man strives to keep his brother free,
I feel You very close to me.

Amanda's Departure

The peals of laughter,
Multifaceted the vibrant glow
Of youth, voices in harmony
And anticipation of the thrill of snow.

The careful plans and preparation
To create such an endeavor,
Abundant enthusiasm joined
With praise and youthful fervor.

A rally, sharing spirit together,
A message gladly shared in word and song,
A diversion, recreation on the way,
A skiing excursion for the happy throng.

A shining smile and laughter,
Eyes twinkling as with friends she shared
Exuberance for the downhill thrills,
With more accomplished, more was dared.

A challenging slope,
With sparkling eyes and heart aglow,
She faced the challenge and plunged eagerly,
Sending up a spray of shining snow.

Her wake of shimmering crystal funneled
Down the path of her descent,
And shining eyes and glowing cheeks
Highlighted her countenance as she went.

With speed, departing from the well-groomed run,
And, still, with skier's bearing she would stand,
Then a tree to us a deadly impact,
To her, the loving grasp of Father's hand.

With shock, refusal, disbelief,
We received the word of mortal harm,
And just a truth to calm our raging grief,
Our lovely girl held in her Savior's arms.

April

April comes drip-dripping on the scene,
Edging the breezy whims of March away.
A wistful, drooping mood sets in,
Though we know, cliché-ly, that it's ushering

In the month of May.
Well, look, the swelling streams are bordered
By seemingly bare branches with buds alive,
Soon to burst into green leaves and blossoms

And shelter tender flowers as they arrive.
But April's charm's not only in the future;
Like a gray-eyed girl, hiding her shy smile.
It's for today we can enjoy a cozy fire

And savor the muted beauty for awhile.

Arise, Jerusalem;

Come forth; behold your King;
Majestic, riding on a colt,
To Him your anthems sing.
Hosanna, hosanna,

The Son of David, blessed Lord,
And now, behold your King!
A few short days from now
Will come accusing cries,

And our great King of glory will
Become the sacrifice.
Hosanna, hosanna,
Our precious Lord, to save us all,

Became the sacrifice.
So, wave palm branches high;
Cast garments at His feet;
Jesus, though mark of praise or scorn,

Will be our Victory.
Hosanna, hosanna,
Our Lord, the precious Lamb of God
Is now our Victory.

Hosanna, hosanna,
The Lord Who saves has come to us.
And now, behold our King.

Aspirations

To mediocre I ascend;
It's one step over terrible.
Although it's not what I intend,
It makes the effort bearable.

Aunts

My aunt: How fortunate
The person who these words can state.
Dear ladies who remember turned-up noses,
The way you looked among the roses.

Who remember dimples and baby talk,
The way we toddled when we walked.
And Christmas's bright memories
And bruised-up shins from climbing trees.

In summers, always hospitality
When new adventures enhance reality,
With cousins laughing in fields of hay
Or drying snowsuits on a winter day.

Trips to the city, the glittering stores,
But the warmth of the welcome meant even more.
And uncles' jokes and fond concern,
Giving indulgence we didn't earn.

Their stitches embroidered across my mind,
Where else in this world would I find
People who still keep on caring
With me too busy to do much sharing?

Even our children their caring share
As I, the daughter of someone dear.
Aunts' and uncles' love and good will,
The circle of love surrounds me still

Away from Home

I think of you, my dear, sweet girl
As I gaze across the vast beige earth,
Interspersed with slashes of stark gray,
The winter branches of young trees.

Hidden still is the swelling of green buds,
Except for here and there, the willows push forth
Their soft gray tufts as if to say, winking,
'See the surprise that lies in store.'

I thought of you in winter's crispness, crackling flames
And pictured you across from me with laughter shared.
Now, as the buds break forth, I'll really see
Your bright face, surprise of spring for me.

Baby Smile

How beautifully two lips can curve,
Defenseless little thing;
You make Daddy smile so tenderly
And make Mommy's heart to sing.

How clearly two blue eyes can gaze,
Pure beyond belief.
Yes, that's our little baby's smile,
So dear, so sweet, no teeth.

Banners

Diapers waving on the line,
Flapping and billowing in sunshine
Always make me feel so good,
Little banners of motherhood.

In the midst of toddling baby talk years
Each day brings laughter, trials, and tears.
I move through the hours, the day soon gone,
Hoping for more energy by dawn.

When baby days pass, and children are grown,
And Daddy and I live here alone,
I won't remember tired arms,
But little children's chubby charms.

Childish quarrels I won't recall,
The torn dress or the lost ball.
I won't remember the recurring mess;
Hurry! Pick up! Clothes to press.

But diapers waving on the line
In the summer's warm sunshine
Always made me feel so good,
Little banners of motherhood.

Banners Again

Diapers waving on the line,
Rippling and billowing in the sunshine
Always made me feel so good,
Little banners of motherhood.

The time seemed so distant when, children grown,
Daddy and I would live here alone.
My memories would be of the joys
Of soft, sweet, cuddly girls and boys.

Forget any quarrels, pain, or tears,
Rushed, hectic days, fast-passing years.
And remember the eyelashes on the cheek
And dimpled fingers hiding a peek.

The ruffled skirts and frilly hats,
Or white knuckles clenched on baseball bats.
Of bedtimes when sweet angels lay
Where so recently ruffians had been at play.

The year have gone; the time has come.
Four fledglings from the nest have flown.
We've been blessed as we hadn't bargained for;
There are diapers on the line once more.

Beautiful Sounds

There is no sound beautiful enough
No words meaningful enough
To tell you what Christmas means to me,
The gift of God that sets us free

Palm trees waving o'er the sand,
Weary footsteps on a rocky path,
And, in the star-filled morn
A newborn baby's cry,

The first and perfect Christmas gift.
The sound of children coming home,
The merriment around the Christmas tree,
The marvelous Gift of Heaven and gifts of home,

The joy that's sweeping over me
It's the warm and loving urge
That makes us want to spread the cheer
To those whose hearts are heavy at this festive time,

To share our feast or dry a tear.
To give a lonely boy or girl
A teddy bear, a dress, a truck or doll,
But, most of all, to spread the happy news

God's gift of love has come for all.

Before The Hay Grows Tall

When the snow and ice have melted,
And green creeps into all,
Our children own our acres
Before the hay grows tall.

It's a joy to see their freedom,
And though they know we see,
Without a care they run as though
Into infinity.

Absorbed in the exertion,
Complete in joyousness,
The only boundary that they meet
Is their own weariness.

Then spring slips into summer
With occasional rainfall,
Their playground is diminished
When the hay grows tall.

They fret in our big shady yard
As though it were a pen.
And then one day the hay is cut ,
And they run free again.

Next winter when they're discontent
Within our cozy walls,
I'll visualize the way they ran
Before the hay grew tall.

Blessed Dilemma

The shining chrysalis has burst;
The butterfly unfolds his dewy wings.
I watch the enchantment in your eyes,
And my heart sings.

And in the midst of busy days,
God's creation shows its ways.
Only in the early spring,
Fern's leaves wait, coiled in fiddlehead bonds.

You touch the firm snail-shapes, surprised
That they'll become the feathery fronds.
And mayflowers by the roadside draw
Us to pause and gaze with awe.

My mind's eye sees the piles of unwashed clothes,
The started dinner, likely to be late.
In the pond, you notice tadpole's tiny legs
And blue flag irises for our pleasure wait.

We hurry down the path for duty calls,
Oh look! Woodbine tendrils curling through the gate.
Though I scarcely merit such a prize
To see the world through children's eyes,

The more of wonders that you find,
The farther Mommy gets behind.

Boomer

I recall your thumping feet
Your bouncing puppy ways,
Enthusiasm uncontrolled
And paws upon my face.

You serious hang-on hunter,
I picture it again.
Can it be your solemn ways
Lived in your heart back then?

Bossy Memories

The honored beast of black and white
Well spoken of in verse
In real life is a bit more flawed,
Sometimes is even worse.

Granted that she does give milk
To make butter, yogurt, cheese
And ice cream sweet and smooth as silk;
At times she fails to please.

Just when I plan a trip to town,
She's seen outside the fence.
Somewhere she's trampled fences down
And challenged my common sense.

Such delays I take in stride
If no emergency
Prompts the necessary ride
And there's a remedy.

Again, to get the milk she gives
Isn't automatic.
The one who milks her may forgive
A kick that is emphatic.

Today they're raised on larger farms;
The back yard cow is rare.
I think she must find ways to harm
The flow of schedules there.

Lest you think nostalgia fails
To give appreciation,
I love the stuff she gives in pails
Made to gourmet creations.

Bro

December nudges me
With thoughts of broad, blunt hands
To which I once with resolution clung
To aid me through the deep, drifting snow

While gales around us little-heeded sung.
Why I recall them chubby, chapped escapes me
With them larger far than mine.
I guess love places where it will

The things that we hold onto over time.
When I looked up to wind-burned cheeks
And into crinkly laughing eyes,
I delighted in the fast-pushed sled

Begged another 'horsey' ride.
The roughness, blue plaid mackinaw
Often broke the north wind's fury.
The feet that helped to break the trail

Eased a little traveler's worry.
The serial tales past curfew time
Delighted on the bed
The eager imagination

Of an 'almost' sleepy-head.
Years bring other kinds of storms, delights as well,
And we see facets of us all we didn't know,
And, yet, December nudges me: recall

Sweet shelter of a brother in the snow.

By Grace

Grief and joy walk hand in glove;
Life is a marvel in all its ways,
The many sides of love bring tears
That mingle with our shouts of praise.

The love of God with comfort sweet,
Hands of children and hearts of friends
Join to strengthen dragging feet
And share as sorrow and victory blend.

To know the one whose life was shared
Is in the Hands we'd trust with all,
And those same Hands are holding me,
A guiding light, protecting wall.

The lessons that were learned live on
The times we danced or grimly trod,
When differing perceptions challenged the calm,
Unlike bents, deepened trust in God.

To savor another's victory
Or sorrow in their struggle or their loss,
The crucible can be perceived,
Grace letting us cast out the dross.

Only God's grace can take the pain,
The contradiction of my plans,
Allow enough of letting go
that I may glimpse His loving hand.

The struggles cease
Surrender raise,
God is seen,
Dwelling in our praise.

Candidate

A candidate quite heroically
Weathers campaign flack stoically.
If he wins, it's so good,
But if he gets the boot

He'll take the result po-li-'toe'-ic-ally.

Change of Heart

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would do my part.
Yet, what I can I give Him, give my heart.

Traditional song
Giving paper hearts to Baby Jesus would be lovely,
A touching symbol in the program planned,
But the carrying out almost met with complications

When, at four-years-old, he didn't understand.
What can I give Him?
'I'm keeping my heart; the teacher made it for me.
I don't want to go up and give it away.'

Poor as I Am,
A four-year-old, tired from all the practice,
Refusing to perform on program day.
If I were a shepherd

'Son, you know that they expect you
To give your heart to Baby Jesus with the rest.'
I'd give Him a lamb.
'And you know your mom and brothers and sisters

Will be so happy if you do your best.'
If I were a wise man,
A little boy reluctantly begins to rise
To join the other little girls and boys.

I would do my part.
Brothers and sisters anxiously encourage,
And Mom sighs, 'It's a part of Christmas joys.'
Yet, what I can I give Him,

Many days have come and gone;
Many smiles and tears have been a part
Of the decision that I thank God for,
Of that small boy now a man,

I'll give Him my heart.

Chokecherries

I reach
High as my arms will allow,
Stepping higher to grasp the tip of a bough.
Beseech,

Let me keep my tenuous footing in weeds;
Tempting cherries hang in rows like black beads.
I strip
Each cluster of tiny globes-sweet, bitter taste

Into the pail belted onto my waist.
Don't trip!
On tiptoes I stretch forks to their extreme;
What were top branches now bend to my dream.

It's here.
My pail filled to the brim with gleaming black spheres;
I descend from my wobbly perch, ending fears.
So dear,

The time over bubbly fruit-sugar blends
Preparing this jelly for special, warm friends.

Christmas Frog

The little froggy lost his way
Traveling in the fog
To find his place to hibernate.
What will happen to this frog?

While friends and family hopped right on,
Finding nice mud in a bog,
This little froggy stumbled on
A hollow beneath a log.

Soon fast asleep, he didn't know
his mud stuck to a tree
That grew against the log he found
To sleep safe as could be.

The froggy noticed suddenly
That someone pulled out the tree;
The mud in which he slept was put
In someone's SUV.

He clung fast to his bit of mud
And with the tree went in
And found himself in a warm house
With colors bright all trimmed.

Look! a little fellow cried,
And all looked on agog.
There on the Christmas tree they saw
The brilliant sea-green frog.

So he sat on the Christmas tree
With tinsel and Yule log.
Now the family e'er recalls
Their shiny Christmas frog.

Junior's new terrarium
became his winter home.
On flies and bugs and goldfish food
He'd feast 'til spring would come.

When springtime came, they took him home
To his old friends in the bog.
They were thrilled to have a friend
Who'd been a Christmas frog.

If things aren't just the way you want
When Christmas comes this year,
You, too, like Froggy, can be used
To bring others Christmas cheer.

Christmas Homecoming

In the season of snow and ice they come,
When we celebrate the coming of God's own Son.
Their cheeks all rosy from the winter breeze,
Full of new ideas and memories.

Their activities surround me like whirling snow,
Enlivening a world that's become-a little-more slow.
As through my duties-shared-I hum;
I marvel at what they've become.

As in my childhood, the world holds a thrill,
The lights on the tree, the sleds on the hill.
A real live wonder of Christmas joys,
Young men and women become girls and boys.

I thank God more than I can tell;
We didn't raise them half this well.
In my heart, the bells of Christmas chime,
'It's coming home for Christmas' time.

You've given hope of Heaven by Your birth
And a little bit of Heaven here on Earth.

Christmas Joy

When the snow begins to fall
And the cold wind starts to blow,
We recall the joy that came for us
That day so long ago

Christmas joy, Christmas joy,
Oh, God has sent the Savior to be our Christmas joy.
In a stable rude and bare,
In a city dark and cold,

A little spark of joy blazed forth
As prophets had foretold.
Christmas joy, Christmas joy
Born of a virgin pure and mild, Lord Jesus, Christmas joy.

When we trim the tree with lights
And our presents gladly give.
We thank the child who came to give
His life that we might live.

Christmas joy, Christmas joy,
Oh, God has sent His only Son, Lord Jesus, Christmas joy.
If you love a little girl,
If you love a little boy,

Then take those children in your arms
And share your Christmas joy.
Christmas joy, Christmas joy;
Lord Jesus who loves children too is now our Christmas joy.

Christmas joy, Christmas joy!
Oh, share His love with everyone, and you'll have Christmas joy.

Christmas Morning in the Barn

We rise weary, early on this day;
We hated so to leave
The warmth of friends and loved ones
On a festive Christmas Eve.

We drove home through moonlit snow scenes,
Set with twinkling, colored lights,
Proclaiming brightly to all who pass,
This is a special night.

Before our children's joyous shouts,
Before the light of day,
We hurry out to milk the cows,
Spread out sweet-smelling hay.

We feed the quiet, gentle cows
And their noisy, eager young.
In my mind I picture distant hills
Where angel psalms were sung.

Among His lowly creatures
On this star-filled Christmas morn,
I stand in humble silence
In the scene where Christ was born.

Crossing

When you set your foot on one more stepping stone,
Or maybe two,
You'll be out of reach of my hand,
But still a ways from land.

You can step back a step
If you feel the need;
Some do.
Perhaps just a touch would steady you.

I'll reach out if you do.
You'll make the crossing;
I have before.
I'll just watch from here until

You reach the other shore.
Let's build a footbridge
When you get across.
If we do,

We'll still find things to share.
I've liked it sometimes
On either side.
I'll like to see you there.

Cyber Dance

A foreign device it's been to me
From my initial glance.
I never thought that I would be
Involved in cyber dance.

Messages urged, as quick and clear,
Enthusiastically,
While friends who held this method dear
Hoped to enable me.

So, now mouse, cursor, icons too
Vocabulary add,
Spreadsheet and database, both new,
Login and wordpad.

I've learned a bit to navigate
The simple offline site.
Now, 'the internet,' they state,
Will render my life bright.

They told me, 'Just obey the prompts.'
And soon I'd be an ace.
I guess I'm an exception;
I've been lost in cyberspace.

The mother of invention's there;
Orders I need to place.
I start to learn by trial and error,
Make use of cyberspace.

Sometimes I find facts just for fun,
My knowledge to enhance.
Now I am another one
Who does the cyberdance.

Dancing Years

The years are dancing;
When my feet skipped and ran,
They moved so slowly and paused,
Moved on-too slow.

And, now, when feet sometimes drag
By end of day,
The years rush on, hurtling forward;
So many plans and dreams

And tasks undone are left.
All right, days and years, dance
And leap and hurtle on!
The hands that hold the years hold me

And those I love, and tasks and plans and dreams
Are in His Hands as well.
So, dance!

Dandelion Fluff

She's small and plump and pink and white,
Looks soft as a powder puff.
A smile so wide lights up her face
And hair like dandelion fluff.

She brings such joy with a visit,
But leaves a quieter house behind.
In quiet moments I notice dandelion fluff
Blowing across my mind.

Little hands that pat my face,
Study the mysteries of my hand,
Make me smile with a 'Bye-bye' or pat-a-cake,
Things that make being Grandma 'grand.'

Tiny dimple-knuckled fingers
Can pull a hair do apart,
But I find dimple-knuckled fingers
Wrapped tightly around my heart.

Dandelions

They always bring me dandelions,
Yellow gold, fluffy and fine.
I keep them all,
And, come what may,

They always last-almost-a day.
The flowers that they pick for me
Don't cost a thing;
They're picked for free.

But the love in their eyes
That I behold
Is worth more to me
Than purest gold.

Death Knell

Forty-four times it pealed across the misty cold,
And to ears averse to hearing, each toll rasped the sore.
The deep tones were calling out, 'It's over.'
When longings were to see and hold once more.

One time, it was over eighty times that the bell tolled,
And I asked Mama 'How can they stand to hear the sound?'
She said 'They must be thankful that she grew so old.
For so many years they treasured having her around.'

Now Mama was gone and could tell me nothing
To soften the raging refusal and revolt I felt.
When the last echo gradually died away
There was a place inside I didn't think could melt.

'You're going to be the mommy now,' they told me,
And I cried, 'No, I'm just a little girl,
Even if I don't have a mommy now to hold me,
I'm not going to be a grown-up in this world.'

Well, I've heard chimes that set my heart a'dancing
And tinkling bells said, 'Christmas time's come 'round.
But I didn't pretend I couldn't have waited longer
To hear that particular tolling's aching sound.

Deployment

Camo jacket and toy gun,
Playing soldier just for fun,
Who'd think on that sunny day
Time would find you in harm's way

In a place of desert wind and sand,
Carrying out duties of our land?
Basic done with willingness
To toughen up and meet the test,

Cadenced march and rifle range;
All of life then in a change,
Become a team. Work side by side,
Your staunchness fills our hearts with pride.

With honor you fulfill the role,
Your part to make the nation's goal,
A safer world for time to come.
I want the most to have you home.

Salute the allegiance and the verve
Of men and women proud to serve.

Disillusioned

She sat on the doorstep
Lost and alone.
Her treasured ideals
She had outgrown.

Shattered the dreams
And beliefs of her youth,
For someone had told her
What passed for the truth.

Could it be true?
It made her feel bad.
Girls prettier than Mommy?
Men smarter than Dad?

Her guilt was so heavy;
Her heart felt so grieved
From critical words
She'd almost believed.

Mommy was calling
'It's suppertime now.'
And she had to face them,
Though she didn't know how.

Her lip trembled a little
As she opened the door;
It's hard to face up
To the world when you're four.

Then the words lost their sting,
And the world held no harm
In Daddy's warm smile
And Mommy's warm arms.

Easter Morning

Shafts of light through stained glass portals
Reward the eyes of those who early rose,
Flooding the waiting hearts of us mere mortals
With the gift the Father God bestows.

Gives life and order to our own reflection
As we hail the glory of the resurrection.
Again, we hear the age-old story,
Grieving women serving their dead Lord,

But, to their amazement viewed a scene of glory,
And sudden life came to a recent word.
Again, our hearts can thrill in joy with theirs,
The answers realized of long years' prayers.

Going before the dawn's light worth it all,
To hail the Easter morn and share in life anew,
Through the stained glass see the shafts of light fall
And lift our hearts to better, higher view,

Giving life to worshipful reflection,
Taking within the glory of resurrection.

Egg Hunt

The Easter egg hunt will be such fun;
The children are learning to read.
We'll write clues of how to find the eggs;
A little know-how is all we need.

By each egg we hide, we'll place a clue
To tell where the next will be found.
They'll get to make use of their reading skills
And think as they look around.

So we thought up fun and clever lines
To indicate stump, bush or tree
And put in directions, left or right,
How many steps there would be.

It wasn't long 'til we heard complaints
Did we seek too advanced a plan?
Seemed they had such fun with riddles;
And so we thought, 'They surely can.'

The cause of their problem soon came to light;
We could see why they were so perplexed.
We'd placed the location clue by the named egg
Instead of one pointing out the next.

By the egg on the stump, it said, 'Look on the stump.'
By the tree, 'Look under tree.'
And, the well-laid plans of parents
Turned out hilariously.

They ran pell mell and found the eggs,
With free, and childish shouts,
Thought as they gleefully claimed them,
What was the grown-ups' uproar about?'

Enchanted Endurance

City lights are quite a thing
When you're four years old.
And, especially, when the Christmas lights
Make you forget the cold.

Enchantment is the very word
For the wonder in those brown eyes
Out-sparkling the Christmas lights
With awe and thrilled surprise.

'I can't quite see the things in back,'
She stretched on tippy-toes.
'Lift me just a little.'
How cold her little nose.

The sub-zero cold sure tested me,
Welcomed reprieve in a warm store
Lasted oh, so briefly,
'Please, let's go out and see some more.'

So, dancing fairies, manger scenes
Rewarded our watching eyes,
And sugar plums, nutcrackers too
And elves and starlit skies.

A wonderland, a fantasy,
A cavalcade of Christmas past.
The frosty windows beckoned her
'Til I coaxed her inside at last.

Of all the beautiful displays
We got to see that day,
Most lovely was the tiny girl
Too enthralled to pull away.

End of Shift

There are six extra inches of space in the hall;
You can get your coat on if you're first with no pushing at all.
If you time it just right and make yourself thin,
You can get to the time clock with one arm in.

But, if someone's elbow should give you a clout,
You may find yourself outside with one arm out.
To get out of the parking lot, you soon learn
You get to your car quickly or just wait your turn.

When all of these thoughts on your mind are impressed,
You give up and go outside half-dressed.

Fair Time

Sawdust, shavings, forks and brooms,
Kids who can't clean up their rooms
Become diligent as livestock grooms;
That time has come again.

Changing from blue jeans, some cook
Dishes with a gourmet look,
Make a garment, craft or book
As we did-remember when.

Welcomed by equine valets:
Horsemen find our parking place,
Western hat and sunny face
Adding to the view.

We're drawn in by scents and sounds,
Hot dog stands and merry-go-rounds,
Festive climate that abounds,
Things we used to do.

Outcome of efforts of a year,
Shampooed and marcelled Hereford steer,
Barrel racing paint's agile career,
Maybe a ribbon won.

A tractor pull, a grandstand show,
Lighted rides in rushing pathways go,
And we recall from long ago,
Letdown, achievement, fun.

The boy who rings the 'strongman' bells,
'What a man!' the girl beside him tells.
A hawker, 'Win three prizes!' yells.
It brings back memories.

But now the cotton candy's new,
And you are bid to join in too
And make some memories for you;
Just enjoy it, please.

The county fair is almost here.

Farmers' Song

I'd like to sing for those who till the soil,
A song of spring and life and growing things,
A song for those who fulfill their lives with honest toil
And begin anew with hope through many springs.

A song of hope for rains to quench the earth,
For sunshine to motivate the buds to bloom
For leaping calves and lambs and chicks, this season's birth
And waving hay to feed and to perfume the air of June.

I'd sing of sunburned shoulders wet with perspiration
Of rolling hills and fences solid, neatly made
Of plodding horses-past-and roar of mechanization,
The sweetness of cool well water in the shade.

My song would have to tell of rains that came too late,
Of years when good fortune eluded all the tries,
When plans built toward for years seem to frustrate
And hay that should be drying sees only leaden skies.

It would tell of autumns gold with bulging bins,
Of winters of contented cattle crunching hay,
Of struggling to care for them through cutting winds,
Of full tanks and fulfillment at the end of day.

I'd like to sing of those who till the soil,
Who reap the world's sustenance from yielding sod,
And persevere in sun and rain, success and setback in their toil,
And feel in every element the sustaining hand of God.

Fickle Autumn Wind

Yesterday a balmy breeze,
Pleasant and mellow in fall,
Flitted and played among the leaves;
Last night she took them all.

A friendly, warm companion,
Innocent among beauty bright,
She destroyed it with a vengeance,
Shrieking in the night.

Today, among stark branches,
She plays her pleasant air,
Ignoring nonchalantly
What's no longer there.

Fireflies

I thank you, Lord,
Who gave us eyes,
Bright birds and blue
Of summer skies.

Who gave us touch,
Hearing and smell;
The evening breeze, the song
Of frogs in the dell.

Who gave our heart
The will to soar
At spring's caress
Or ocean's roar.

The onset of
The twilight time
The soft glow of
The moon's bright climb.

And those to share
These lovely scenes,
With silvery aura
On earth's dark greens.

Oh, look! Though a storm
Is on the way,
And distant thunder
Ends the day

And heavy air and ominous breeze
Intermittently stir the trees,
And violent weather seems imminent
There comes a twinkling,

Heaven-sent.
Through dark grass and bushes they arise
A cavalcade
Of fireflies.

Fire on the Ice

We watched the sun make fire on the ice
Where last summer placid waves lapped on the shore,
And we ran carefree, barefoot on the beach.
Now still and chill in winter wraps we've shivered there.

Our fingers and our toes and noses tingled
And made the fires of home seem doubly nice.
Still, we stood and watched the shadows change,
A winter sunset making fire on the ice.

First Holiday

The first holiday without that special one
Is shared by those who know and care.
At the festive table of your heart,
There's an empty chair.

Choirs sing with joy and reverence;
Warmth and glitter are everywhere.
Hearts are thankful for God's great gift;
In a baby, God is there.

As those near and dear live out this time,
May light and comfort fill the air,
Loaded up with happy memories
And the present moment's textures shared.

Across the miles, like tinkling bells
Come thoughts and gentle prayers
That a joyous angel, Spirit sweet
Smiles at you over that special chair.

First Spring Breeze

Sweet lambkin, soft against my cheek,
You crept here in the night.
While I slept you moved away the chill
And met me at day's first light.

You skipped with me through the morning
With the hopeful song you sing.
When the day's last faint rays touched the land,
I anticipated spring.

Friend

To you who smile at me when I am sad
And take my hand when things aren't going well,
And in happier times my laughter share,
To you who look into my face and see

Not beauty, charm or lack of them,
But see what's in my heart and care,
I give my heart
You are my friend.

To you who share with me your grief and joy
And trust I won't abuse your confidence or pain,
Who widen my vista of life when we touch
Our minds and hearts; our understanding grows.

To you who accept me with my flaws and scars
And share the joy that I can do the same with yours,
I give my heart
I am your friend.

Gift

Generously, it's been laid at your feet.
Grab it, use it to its full extent.
What's been granted richly, wisely spent,
Diligently, with grand intent

Can lead to life fulfilled and sweet.
On bended knee, I pray, 'Infuse me with Your will
To take the gift, apply it and succeed.'
I can grudgingly admit the need

To take it, purposefully, foregoing speed,
With orderly improvement, dreams fulfill.
What's been given profuse, overflowing,
With God's help toward achievement growing,

With consistent actions and with heart,
Make use of that gift just a tiny part.

Gift of Faith

Sweet Grandchild, may I welcom you?
I hope you like our world,
With awesome sunsets, twinkling stars,
And bright new dawns unfurled.

And soft, green grass and sparkling snow
And friends' warm hands to hold,
The songs of birds and fresh spring breeze,
Warm fires for when it's cold.

Oh, yes, there are things like bumps and storms,
But love will hold you close.
And for every thorn you find,
There's the sweet smell of a rose.

I want to thank our Father God,
Who gives all life and breath,
That we can have you in our world,
A precious gift of 'Faith.'

Glass Dish

Something so pretty should be used;
I used it for months with care,
Admiring the sparkling colors;
Now it lies shattered there.

For my moment's carelessness
All day I'm a little grumpy,
Grieving over my spilled milk,
A mournful Humpty Dumpty.

Good Night Kiss

I've kissed their tired little heads,
Tucked them sleeping in their beds.
My day's work as a mother done,
Filled with laughter, tears, and fun.

Now, Dear, a little time I'll take,
Not to sew or bake a cake,
But in this happy, hectic life,
To sit with you and be your wife.

Graduation

I first welcomed you at birth's glad hour,
Long hours and months of waiting, through.
I looked into your precious little face,
Saying, 'Oh, it's you. It's you.'

We're Crossing to another part of life.
The years have passed, and I've practiced letting go;
I knew it was part of God's plan.
I delighted to walk beside a little boy;

I bid safe journey to a man.
You're crossing to another part of life

Granddaughters

With little granddaughters,
My heart overflows,
With curls and ribbon
And ruffles in rows.

A scowl that melts
To an engaging smile,
A sunshiny angel,
A talkative pal.

Each has her own ways,
Overwhelmingly dear
Making us wish
For her presence all year.

Who could we read to
Where it would mean so much?
Who has such soft skin,
A satiny touch?

With precious granddaughters,
Our blessings sublime,
We'll dream of curls and ruffles
'Till we see them next time.

Grandsons

They start out bundled up in a blanket,
Hold that head so carefully.
Before you know it, they're throwing a ball
Or trying to climb a tree.

Nobody else can be so bright,
So strong, or full of fun.
Though each has his own special ways,
They all are loved as one.

Who else could get their grandma
Before the meal's done to saddle the horse?
Leaving their moms and others
To serve the final course.

You'd think Grandpa raised them; his pride is so strong.
And, oh, how they're missed when away.
Can't believe how they grow, men before we know,
We thank God for each one every day.

Hauling Wood

Getting firewood with the sleigh was an adventure,
The horses harnessed up and Laddie alongside.
Laddie wasn't much more than a pup then,
And he'd bark like crazy when we'd start the ride.

You'd think the horses would react to the confusion,
But they'd just go on as though he wasn't there,
With squeaking of the snow beneath the runners
And harnesses rattling in the winter air.

The sleigh would creak along between the trees and bushes
'til we saw a dead tree or logs along our 'road.'
The horses stopped amidst our Laddie's yapping;
My darling sawed those logs; we piled them on the load.

Crisp winter air was a refreshing benefit
For lessening nausea and clearing of the head.
A married girl can run into these symptoms;
That's what the kindly doctor gently said.

A young man showing special consideration
While enjoying some help in this necessary task,
'Who cuts his own wood is twice warmed,' we laughed,
As in the warmth of the crackling fire we basked.

The horses munching hay in their snug stalls
As a reward for work, they'd rest and eat their fill,
But Laddie chose to let the wind blow through his fur
As he took his favorite lookout on the hill.

Hey, Brother

Jalopies, chickens, paper route,
Sweat and hard-won evenings out,
A ballad sung, a worker's shout,
A swim in the cold stream,

Saying 'goodbye' for college days,
Mentioning my tomboy ways
And how some lipstick might amaze,
Maybe t'was a dream.

Well, now you've raised a family,
Struggles and bumps you've lived to see,
Acknowledged it's the same with me,
It' good for me to know.

You've seen the sun; you've seen the rain,
Even been heard to complain,
Through it all, there's been a gain
As on through life you go.

Phone rings; we spar o'er pun and quip,
Recall confidences once let slip
Sinking ships, relationship?
What it was, who knows?

The time then comes to say goodbye,
Extend affection, give a try.
Life goes on, a smile, a sigh.
That's the way it goes.

Brothers are a curious lot,
Their ways beyond my knowing.
Affection's often best expressed,
'Sister, how's it going?'

Holding

I hold my children close sometimes
And soothe away their tears.
Sometimes I hold with exuberance
The joyful smiles and cheers.

I held each one at birth's glad hour
Long hours and months of waiting through
Looked in the joyfully awaited face,
Thinking, 'Look, Oh, look, it's you.'

Sometimes I hold their suppers warm
When things don't go as planned.
Or hold my eyes open when it's late
And, anytime, hold their hands.

But, it won't always be like this;
Someday I'll taste the cup,
To know the time for holding's gone,
And it's time to give them up.

Though each one walk out the door,
Pursuing life's beckoning call,
And I can't hold their hands each day
Or keep them in our walls,

I'll know that they are in good hands
When their faces I can't see.
You, Lord, who've held me all along
Will hold each one for me.

Hope

You starry-eyed idealist,
You've been in my heart too long.
How did I let you convince me
That life could be a song?

When I turn my back on you
And face reality,
I see life's small satisfactions
Submerged in drudgery.

But when the sun shows through a fog,
Casting gold on all I see,
Through the dark and distant clouds I hear
A bit of melody.

When all my goals seem trivial
And my efforts like a joke,
Then I can close my eyes and hear
A distant song of hope.

Humorous Hunt

I'm hunting down a little guy
Who's leaving barefoot tracks.
He's refused to answer all my calls
When I tell him to come back.

He knows that I've discovered
The corner where he prowls.
I hear a stifled giggle
And a playful little growl.

Beneath my aggravation,
A chuckle I find there,
To discover that I'm hunting down
Instead, a boy-foot bear.

Husband

We did what love does;
You were there and saw and helped me, Lord.
Then, like David, I arose and washed my face,
Thanked You for Your grace, believed Your Word.

The days are past
For claiming healing, searching for relief,
For comforting and putting on the smile
When responding to brave jauntiness forbade my grief.

The days have come
For praising You for still more grace,
For taking Your dear child home,
Giving me strength to meet each day to come,

And rejoicing that he looks into Your face.
Your Word brings peace;
You're the husband of the widow,
Father of the fatherless too,

Grandfather, perhaps, to those whose loving
'Papa' hugs have ceased.
You let me know that even before the Wedding Feast,
I'm Your dear child and also in a Husband's care by You.

Intrigue

A moth enraptured by a flame,
On fragile wings goes forth.
Can it be possible the flame
Is drawn, too, to the moth?

Little moth, do you attempt
To capture that bright flame,
Whose warmth may only be most kind,
Though 'perilous' is its name?

Does the flame move closer as you flit
Or is focus all askew?
As you retreat, is it in fear
Of flame consuming you?

You're short on armor, little moth
For such a dangerous game,
And you lack the clarity to know
Who's moth and who's the flame.

It's Coming

It's coming; now the signs we see.
An extra smile, the colored lights,
The cutting, trimming of a tree,
Posters tell of special nights,

Children anticipate delights.
And so it comes.
It's coming, though some are away
With duty on a far-off shore

Who think of coming Christmas Day.
And some at home yearn all the more.
Some hearts ache; some hearts soar.
Still it comes.

Relentlessly, as ages roll,
Confirmed again a promise kept,
Who came here to redeem the soul
In glory while the people slept.

Hope into hearts longing crept.
Though king oppose and killing chose,
Still He came
A baby? How God chose to save

A fickle and rebellious world,
In the night, the gift He gave
While shepherds shook and star unfurled.
Though evil all its might had hurled

And God's will flaunted, yet undaunted,
Still He came.
Men of honesty face strife
While those who cheat succeed.

Some who live an easy life
Ignore the abject need,
To the promise give no heed.
Good spurned and hated, but unabated,

So pass the days as we prepare
To celebrate with song and gift,
With dear ones and some needy share.
The celebration our hearts lift,

And pray the world to goodness shift
Merriment uproarious, honoring the glorious,
And Christmas comes.

Klutzy Focus

She stepped out shyly, gingerly,
A bubble on her pipe,
To navigate through bump and breeze
And keep the thing upright.

Her confidence began to rise,
'I can keep this thing intact
If I don't look to the left or right,
I can achieve this act.'

So, though she stepped upon the feet
Of those she held so dear
And upset their things, she kept
Her bubble in the clear.

And, when across and looking back,
She saw her dreadful errors;
While keeping her own bubble safe,
She had endangered theirs.

Oh, Dear! Tell me, what can I do
To help clear up your rubble?
I only skipped and bumped and jumped
So not to burst my bubble.

Late Blessing

My perspective's changed a little;
Food doesn't taste just right.
I feel puffy where I'm not used to
And having tender dreams at night.

I guess I just can't let it go;
The good doctor's standing by
To fill me in on the good news:
A new baby's coming by.

My kids are grown; my, what a change!
Surprised that this could be.
Friends smile at me and shake their heads,
Saying, 'Better you than me.'

I begin to anticipate
The darling little face.
And love increases with my size,
As God pours out His grace.

We don't know, a boy or girl?
What gift God has in store,
But the nursery and arms are ready
To be blessed with a baby once more.

Lawn Thoughts

I used to lie upon my back,
Hidden in tall grass
That tickled, rustling in the breeze,
And watch fluffy clouds float past.

The daydream times I had there
Nobody else could see.
No one could find me in the grass
Unless they stepped on me.

I'd lie and feel the summer sun
And smell the half-crushed weeds,
See stray larkspur blooming everywhere
Wind-spread from last year's seeds.

Today we're feeling good about
The well-shorn lawn we've made;
Like a smooth and rolling golf course
Around our home it's laid.

It's practical, attractive too,
And it's well worth the care
With no unpleasant surprises
To step on unaware.

But there's still a warm spot in my heart
For grass that's grown knee-high,
The erratic zigzag pathways
Of the vagrant dragonfly.

Waving gently in the breeze,
A summer spider's web looking like lace
And dozens of bright blue larkspur,
Self-seeded all over the place.

Layers

Like peeling an onion, it seems we live
A layer at a time,
Learn more trusting day by day,
See illusions stripped away,

Come to know that I'm okay,
A layer at a time.
It's because that Power strong,
God, is with me all along.

I lose my fear to look and know,
Fear of where I've been and go,
Learn to know and like myself,
Each layer I allow to peel,

Come to know that I can feel,
I can love, and I can heal,
A layer at a time.
I can come to see your need,

As my fear is stripped away;
Defenses take a lesser role,
Love begins to take control,
To help me see that you're okay.

I see, surprised, that I can care,
Expecting no reward to share,
And find a deeper self is there,
A layer at a time.

I find love replacing fear,
The needs of others to hold dear,
To my Maker I draw near,
A layer at a time.

Find acceptance growing deep,
Find my love now reaching out,
Able to set free or keep,
As with an onion, sometimes weep,

A layer at a time.

Lazy Man's Thread

When we start needlework with too long a thread
(Mama called it the lazy man's thread),
Avoiding threading the needle as soon,
But we get knots and tangles instead.

Where we thought we'd save time, frustration sets in;
We untangle and snip and untie
And have to start over with a new thread
And see that we didn't get by.

My Daddy said to keep accounts short
And keep your life simple and sweet.
An account quickly paid, conflicts resolved
Prevent tangles with those that we meet.

So, in relationships, business or crafts,
God's wisdom can guide all our ways,
Straightforward and true, no need for device,
We'll have calm nights and purposeful days.

Learning to Dance

I'm asking for wisdom to measure my days,
To grow with each new circumstance,
To gain new perspective, and move with new grace;
You see, I'm just learning to dance.

I closely give heed to distinguish the beat,
The pattern to learn and the stance,
Learn boundaries, freedom, step on no toes;
Please be patient, I'm learning to dance.

Though I want to stomp and to swing and to twirl,
I need to learn all these new slants.
With practice, freedom really can come,
I believe while I'm learning to dance.

Self consciousness hangs like a slow-fading cloud,
But this time it won't spoil the chance;
Past foibles and clumsy attempts come to mind,
Remember, I'm learning to dance.

It steps on my shoelaces, drags at my skirt,
Makes me notice the displeasing glance.
But my heart and my soul override all of these,
And I just keep on learning to dance.

I love friends who join me in laughter or tears
When I fall on the seat of my pants.
I see that they all understand-or accept,
'It's like that when you're learning to dance.'

Let Live

Before I step on my soapbox,
Promoting 'Live, Let Live,'
I note life is a paradox;
Much living is to give.

And, still, if I do not attend
To needs that are my own,
I have not much to give or lend.
How can the balance be known?

Do I respect my brother's right
What's best for him to do?
Or do I think only my sight
Can see the way that's true?

So I recall, 'Let go, Let God,'
And treat him as a friend.
I have not walked the path he's trod
Don't know the venture's end.

So, let me with encouragement
From my agenda free,
Let him his own course implement
And self-reliance see.

Living that Way

The river, the woods, and-oh, no!-the snow
Greet the season the grateful ones share,
When families gather and friends that we know
Partake in traditional fare.

The glory of autumn, the harvest so rich,
The crispness of winter draws near,
And fingers of ice grab the shore of the creek,
Cherished symbols of this time appear.

Not only in turkey and pumpkin and sleigh,
Though memories precious impart,
But also in honor, in its poignant way,
Thanksgiving comes into the heart.

The heartbeats of history thanks have expressed
When our land Thanksgiving declared,
Acknowledging how we all are so blessed,
It's 'thanks-living' now can be shared.

Love on a Tree

Mother didn't have much money to spend at Christmas time,
But, with merry secrecy she worked and for gifts saved every dime,
So her children could have Christmas abundantly.
It wasn't obligation that made her do these things,

But love's anticipation of the joy that it would bring,
And we all have shared her love 'round the tree.
Each year we decorate our tree with trimmings that are old;
They're all filled with loving memories. What stories can be told

Of how each precious trinket came to be.
The loving hands that made them or bought each special thing,
Their glowing eyes and faces as their treasure they would bring
Are why we cherish love on a tree.

Jesus gave us this glad day when He left His heavenly home.
To come and live in this old world, He gave up His royal throne,
And we wonder how this could be.
But the Father's love is boundless for souls like you and me,

And He sent His dear son, Jesus, to give His all on Calvary.
We remember it was love on a tree.
As we hang a shining star upon the highest limb,
We rejoice with thankful hearts for what was given by Him,

And how the Son of God set us free.
Amid songs and light and tinsel, happy gatherings take place,
And we give gifts to remember what God gave us in His grace,
And we celebrate His love with a tree.

'Happy Birthday, Jesus.'
And now we cherish love on a tree.

Maori

I heard this airline commercial,
A most appealing song,
But if they wanted me to go there,
They must have said it wrong.

They told how carefree Maoris
Dance beneath the moon
And hide beneath exotic trees
For shade and cool at noon.

I want to be a Maori
With bronzy, sunlit hide
And dance in grass and brilliant cloth
And watch the changing tide.

I'd like to feel the subtle change
Of summer into fall.
I'd sit on the floor of my grass hut
And be part of it all.

I cannot be a Maori,
Impossible, I know.
And, if I couldn't be one,
I wouldn't want to go.

Maturity

'See my new shoes,' she said engagingly.
She wanted to meet and be friends.
Lacking social skills, she did what she could
To accomplish her straightforward ends.

The years pass along, and she plays many roles,
Student, wife, mother, and friend.
Each hat that she wears has its informal rules,
So on these she can somewhat depend.

When the nest becomes empty, the partner is gone,
She must go on and find things that are new,
Unless the connections were strong and secure,
Expected patterns may go askew.

Sometimes gingerly, sometimes awkwardly forward,
She reaches out to find her own new place.
The options become clearer, possibilities emerge.
Can she master these new roles with grace?

Well, we're much older now, perhaps past our prime.
To get acquainted, we've nothing to lose.
So now, with my savoir-faire social skills,
I say, 'Look. Do you see my new shoes?'

May

Gone, March winds, capricious and rambunctious.
Pale light of April touches strands of gray.
Moist breezes stir the sun on silver ripples
With liveliness, and, oh! It's May! It's May!

And dare we cool bare toes in dancing streams
And toss away the garb of seasons past?
Can we brush loose our silver hair in sunlight,
Look at what's new and what we've held so fast?

Lips, firmly resolute, have borne the winter,
Relaxing to a smile as songbirds sing.
Tulips bob in red and gold and purple.
Hearts start to dance and, oh! It's spring! It's spring!

Can we stand and take in the day's beauty,
Seizing from it what we want to hold?
Simply let the fluff blow by unfettered
And maybe see a nugget there of gold.

It's not too late to dream or to imagine,
To fancy the improbable today
Because in gray there's a glint of silver,
And after winter, oh! It's May! It's May!

Memory

My brother, I still see sun-dappled pebbles through the ripples
Where we walked barefoot upstream in the brook,
And, though we'd heard it was the speckled trout's domain,
Only chubs and shiners found our hook.

The willow tree, how far it leaned out across the creek.
And we climbed out and swung, our reflection blent with leaf and sky.
And laughed about our tiny catch,
A string of minnows much too small to fry.

So much for trout; the only speckles I could see
Were the freckles on your sunny, smiling freckled face
And sun-sprinkled speckles in your hazel eyes,
My vision of a happy, carefree childhood place.

A man of letters you became,
A family man of dignity and worth,
With steadiness and still a jaunty understated wit,
Whose avocations ranged from flying over clouds

To guiding younger hands and minds
In the grandeur of nature and practicalities of it.
That last flight, you were airborne so suddenly
That we, earthbound, found it hard to see,

To realize your time had come to soar above the clouds
And to perceive your journey's majesty.
These days, I like to think of you up there
Sitting, swinging on that willow, your laurels in hand,

Reflecting out among the leaves and sky,
While I wave at you, smiling, from the land.

Moonlight Example

Some moonlight walks
My daughter trod,
Not with me but
With her God,

So special in my
Heart I hold,
As her steadfastness
I behold.

I often hoped that someday I
Would feel that close to One so high.
I've walked with Him through woodlands bright,
His refuge felt from fears at night.

But when I asked Him, be my Lord,
Things I remembered from His Word
Took on new life; new life was mine.
I could relate to that moon's bright shine

She shared with Him those special walks
And feel with Him those heartfelt talks.
And sometimes , when my thankful heart
Knows God is mine, she had a part.

And, when I lift my hands to God,
She's with me through the paths she trod.

Morning Call

Who gets up early Saturday
So I can have a visit?
Won't be offended or annoyed,
I ask myself, 'Who is it?'

Now, when I take the risk to see
Who, at the other end
Receives my visit joyfully;
Either it's a friend

Who overlooks my thoughtless ways
And greets me anyway,
And sets aside her wish for sleep
And helps me start my day.

Or else, I've guessed right, and they're up,
But, even then, it's kind
To receive someone on Saturday
When you have plans in mind.

For, who gets up early Saturday
After a busy week?
I say, it's kind to take the time
And with a friend to speak.

Mothers In-law

The hands that hold
The bridal flowers
Once picked me
Dandelions.

The hand that puts
The ring on hers
Once made you valentines.
How blessed we are to know

Our children
Have faith of one accord,
And we join the ranks
of mother in-law

As sisters in the Lord.

Nag

What ya' doin', whistling through that crack
I know should have been mended?
How dare you come and tell me
That summer time has ended?

You're messin' up the morning,
Blowing clouds across the sun,
And you've nerve to come and tell me
Of the work that's still not done.

Names

What's in a name? The image of the one we love to hold,
Anticipation of the warmth, the special smile,
Or the chubby, trusting little hand I can enfold,
Feeling pride, treasuring that innocence awhile.

A name? Responses that we'd rather not admit,
An inner cowering, indignation, dread,
But other names engender higher things,
A lift of courage, soaring; fear is shed.

A name held high in rippling stars and stripes,
Undulating in the breeze of freedom's air,
America, the name speaks justice, liberty,
A promise and a vision all can share.

America, brave hearts and hands her freedom won,
By brilliant minds and determination formed,
By bold, assertive stroke of pen brought forth
And lower states of bondage gamely stormed.

Oh, what a name! The syllables express
Thoughts of generosity and choice,
Fiery fortitude and tenacious hold
To give determination and freewill a voice.

How beautiful those syllables that lift, look up;
Those who chose the name be doubly blest;
Its sound is what it is, vision and provision
For citizens empowered to choose the best.

But grand as that name, there is one surpassing;
One Who took on the evil of this earth.
With flinty fortitude, infinite compassion
Gave us back our honor and our worth.

Who set aside magnificence of Heaven,
Gave His life to make our spirits free,
The awesome hero of all mankind, Jesus
Almighty Sovereign of all is He.

How glorious to be part of both,
America the name says liberty
And Jesus, the Almighty King of Heaven
Who is living to empower you and me.

One nation under God,
God bless America!

Nancy

My little firstborn I never held
In a snow white box was laid.
No lullabies were ever sung;
No baby games were played.

Beneath the burning August sun
She was laid beneath the sod,
A small, sweet soul commended
To the loving arms of God.

I wanted something I could see
To keep just for a memory,
And lovely, fresh, belying death,
They brought pink rosebuds and baby's breath.

New Day

When I wake in the morning,
I'd like to be
Eager and ready
A new day to see.

To the lives around me
A joy to impart,
That through adversity
Buoys up the heart.

I'd like to see the possibilities
Each moment holds,
So I see my hours
Not as ashes but gold.

To end my day satisfied
With each task that's complete
And retire grateful
For renewing sleep.

And wake yawning and stretching
And smiling at dawn
And never once weeping
For things that are gone.

Night Hunt

It shatters the quiet nighttime air,
The plaintive, musical cry,
Telling that the prey is near
And excitement running high.

With varying pitch throughout the chase,
Their song trills through the night,
And each in his wild longing
Tells what's out of sight.

What human eyes could never see,
He senses with his nose,
And the hunter, interpreting the cries
Upon the game can close.

The flashing lights, the cracking gun,
The victory is won,
And each in his own way shows pride
And claims it as his own.

They linger on; the hunt still calls,
And they hate to call it done,
But in dreams relive it
As they doze in the morning sun.

Nontraditional Student

It's never too late to improve your mind,
And you income can increase.
There are kids to put through college;
You can delegate duties with ease.

A car pool is the perfect answer,
Though class schedules may not coincide.
Well, study that time; it'll work out.
It's worth it to save on the ride.

Though the home crew may tire a bit later
Plan to be with them all that you can.
So you're studying at their game and their concert,
It will help to accomplish the plan,

The classes are finished; we've done it.
Face the job hunt with anticipation.
It's the happy day for which we waited.
I call it exhaustion; they say graduation.

Not a Romance

Sad words were about to flow
From my self-willed pen,
Foolishly thinking that they know,
Saying 'It might have been.'

But what it will write is just this:
The truth; 'A friendship is what is.'

Notation

A young man who exuded machismo
Approached a young miss most bellissimo.
His line cavalier
Did not please her ear;

Her answer was 'No' with fortissimo.
The miss, though both intrigued and offended,
Believed the brief meeting was ended.
There is many a fellow

With behavior more mellow,
Not likely a favor extended.
Even so, in hope he would linger;
Perhaps a smile he could bring her,

If he sought to be kind
And her interests to find
And, who knows?-A serenade sing her.
His interest in her he maintained

And from brashness firmly refrained.
So, his tone of respect
Had a favorable effect,
And a chord in her heart was attained.

Thoughtful ways, manly strength he would show.
She came to feel new fortissimo
By the light of the moon
To a romantic tune,

They whisper sweet things pianissimo.

Not Prose

The lure of lilt on mind and tongue
Of rhyme, alliteration,
Of rhythm, dancing syllables,
Verbal animation,

Though the resulting words be trite,
Inane or even worse,
The sense of rolling, skipping words
Less status gives blank verse.

If the message fails to make much sense
To more literate of you,
Still, rhyme sublime, and even chime
Almost rule out hai ku.

Of a Soiled Postcard

Or Raised Postal rates
Because of arbitrary ways
Of postal folk who serve these days,
For this small card, though soiled and worse,

They do not choose to reimburse.
Postage is paid, at least the former,
Would adding cents make my heart warmer?
Though some may think it's in bad taste,

The postage paid I hate to waste.
I'll add the cents, no postage due
And blithely send it off to you.

Of Food and Jail

September, and school had begun;
They boarded the school bus once more.
Joanne had just entered grade two;
Brother, Gene, was in grade four.

So little sister, Connie,
And Russell, who was three,
Would spend the day with Mommy
Keeping busy, as you'll see.

Pet names had been given, Adorable
And Deplorable, take your pick.
What one didn't think of the other would
Come up with; it was quick.

Well, on this sunny autumn day,
They munched potato chips,
As Mom drove to the county seat,
The object of the trip.

As we pulled up by the courthouse,
Which held the jail as well,
The potato chip bag got knocked out
As quickly as I can tell.

Our dear little preschoolers
To obey the law had been taught.
They sized up the situation
And feared Mommy would be caught.

'Mommy might have to go to jail;
Pick the bag up like we should.
We don't want Mom to go to jail;
Joanne don't cook too good.'

They're all grown up and still inclined
To pick up as they should,
But none says of their sister,
'She just don't cook too good.'

Of Worth

In the best of all worlds, I'd declare,
Both wit and wisdom be there,
With precept upon fact
Undergirding each act,

But sometimes thoughts run without care.
Honor be awarded the astute,
Although notice be granted the cute.
All facets of gem

Have value in them
And levity a worthy pursuit.

On Dietrich's Hill

We might not be back to school on time;
Noon hour goes by so fast,
Even if we rush and wolf our lunch down.
Our short playtime is always too soon past.

But the Dietrichs have a great toboggan,
A hill that's so steep, and it's right next door.
Even if we only get a few turns,
It would be well worth hurrying for.

So, if by chance, we got permission,
We gladly headed for the hill,
Snow pants firmly tucked into our boot tops,
Bundled up to revel in such a thrill.

Five or six of us piled on together
And then somebody said, 'Now! Go!'
Before we knew it, we'd be at the bottom
Sending up frosty showers of flying snow.

Hurry back to school before the bell rings;
The second bell just isn't soon enough.
Everyone has had his share of turns now,
So let's all cooperate and do our stuff.

No one wants to be kept in at recess,
Writing series of lame excuses why,
Even if we can't go outside anyway
Because nobody's clothes have gotten dry.

Some day when your life just seems too busy,
And ordinary doings have lost their thrill,
Just sit back and picture you on a toboggan,
Whizzing down Dietrich's snowy sliding hill.

Organization

If I'd remembered all the warnings,
Work must be done before you play,
Or opportunity knocking
May slip unheeded away.

If I'd done my work first thing,
My afternoon then free,
I'd have had some time just for myself
To do something for me.

But, if I'd heeded that sage warning,
I wouldn't have had so much fun this morning.

Other Foot

I've frequently misread 'the look'
When it was flashed at me,
Unmindful of the urgent hint,
Conveyed in subtlety.

I then found foot deep in my mouth
And hoped that time would free
Me of the consequence of words
That came so fluently.

I like the thought plainly spelled out.
Take me aside a bit;
I want to know the how and why.
Then I can quietly sit.

But, when shoe's on the other foot
(The one plucked from my teeth)
And I don't want cat out of bag,
Blankness defies belief.

Those times, as I recall, I've steamed,
And patience I forsook.
I blush to see the difference
It makes who gave 'the look.'

Our Older Home

While we dream, your sheltering walls
Keep us safe whate'er befalls.
While we struggle and we plan
We're kept dry by your roof 's broad span.

We hope to make you something more,
New ceilings, carpet, better floors.
And someday when good fortune calls,
We'll put something better on your walls.

While things are scattered in disgrace,
We're planning for more storage space.
To make improvements, we ponder how,
But, to me, you're home right now.

Paradox

No, you see, it's not two physicians
As in Drs. Brown and Smith,
But a curious slant on truths of life
That we are dealing with,

As, what we grip tenaciously
Will likely slip away,
But what we enjoy with freedom
May simply choose to stay.

Or, what's disliked in someone else
May be a mirror of me.
When I choose to accept them,
We both become more free.

So, things I love are just left free,
Not held by chains or locks,
Life freely given for some good,
Not guarded in a box.

These ways of life examples of
The thing called paradox.

Party

He stood, casually elegant, at the podium,
Telling of a life that inspired us all,
With a gruff but humorous manner of relaying his story
Of courageous rising after life's hard fall.

He related analogies from the Bible;
'Rummy stories' was the term he used,
The truth coming forth in his narration
Leaving us touched and motivated if amused.

He told about 'the prodigal,' a Jewish lad
Who sought early 'what will someday be mine.''
Although it was both tradition and expectation
That the older brother would be first in line.

A sorrowing but wise father then conceded,
And the younger son with blessing went his way,
Proceeding to find friends with whom to waste the fortune
Until, with means gone, friends, too, went away.

The land was suffering in the throes of famine
Adding to the depth of his decline.
No employment could be found 'til, finally
A Jewish man's last choice. Oh, no! Not feeding swine!

Reduced to feeding swine or face starvation,
The young man was brought harshly to his knees.
Then, with a sudden flash of insight, he thought,
'Father's servants are better off than me.'

So, picking up what ragged garment still remained,
He turned his face back the way he came.
And trudging, tired, but with resolution,
He rehearsed how he would admit his shame.

'Father, only let me be your servant;
I no longer deserve to be your son.
Just to be able to make a living

Would be all I ask after all I've done.'
But the father ran and caught him in his arms,
Crying gladly, 'Son, you're alive and home again.
Servants, prepare a feast, new clothes and honor,

A ring, a fatted calf, a party-forget what's been!'
'What of my older son?' the father wondered.
And finding him, he said, 'What's wrong? Come join the feast.'
'Father,' he said morosely, 'After what he's wasted and abused,

How can you be so joyful and so pleased?'
'I stayed and did the work and helped you,
And selfish thoughts of pleasure I declined.
I never even asked-to feast with friends-a kid goat;

Now look how you celebrate this wasteful brother of mine.'
'My son, my son,' the father said with great affection,
'All I have is yours; I'd have withheld nothing that was mine.
You've been by my side and mean so much to me.

You could have had a party at any time.'
The tall, engaging speaker summed up the story
With a bearing of humor, compassion, and wit combined,
While I sat with sudden realization,

I, too, Could have a party at any time.
I don't have to tally the advantages of others
Or keep account of every grievance of mine.
I can act on possibilities before me

Unless I like to sit and feed the swine

I can enjoy the brightness of the morning
Even though clouds may be on the way

And also see in them the rains supplying
Of green and growing grass and flowers of May.
I can hug and hold and dance and smile
And be glad for people all around.

Family can be seen with all their good points.
I can forgive and let that weight hit the ground.
Not to deny my tears or tears of others,
But celebrate the fact that we can feel

And let compassion soften the rough spots of life,
And hold the faith that what is hurt can heal.
I can see the roses on the thorn bush,
Cherish and then also share what's mine,

See the freedom that's within my limits,
I can have a party any time.

Points

Like stars shining in the long, dark night,
Like the lights of homes and of stopping spots
Seen from an airplane in a lone night flight,
Connected in ways only in our thoughts.

So are acquaintances and our friends afar;
They are there and may be truly known,
But only when they intersect is meaning found
And light shared and multiplied is made their own.

Pony Boy

A firstborn son can seem so big,
A help, a right-hand man.
Best remember he's a little boy
Doing what he can.

A little boy who's on a farm
Learns to do his chores.
A model for the younger kids?
Don't be expecting more.

While little sisters and brothers look up,
He tries to help each one,
Boosting them up on the pony,
Helping others to have fun.

Showing them how to hit the ball,
Giving pushes on the swing,
Helping them see chores as fun,
A big order, don't you think?

So, it's clear, it's great to see
Some leisure time for him,
With that beloved pony
Galloping like the wind.

Precious Persuasion

I thank the Lord for chirping birds,
Then-now-a part of you.
I thank Him for the flowers bright;
We have shared them too.

I thank Him for your jauntiness
That so often has brought smiles to stress,
And for love that grows more, not less,
When I see or think of you.

I thank Him for the courageous heart
And tenacious certainty
That dared to share her gift from God
With a mother who thought she could see.

Our children can our lives so bless
When they live in and share God's graciousness.
The new life that I now possess,
You've helped to bring to me.

Progressive Dinner

With wide-eyed wonder, our five-year-old
Viewed the Christmas lights.
The common work-a-day of town
Had become wonderland by night.

Coaxing to see displays again,
We drove back around streets and shops,
Noticing that a gathering of cars
At another home had stopped.

Daddy remarked that it could be
Perhaps a progressive dinner.
Then on to see the lights some more,
Big displays or subtle glimmers.

A wistful mood fell on our son;
Then suddenly he chimed,
'It'd sure be nice if we could have
One of those aggressive meals sometime.'

The mood was altered whimsically
With a remark out of the blue,
And parents sardonically agreed,
'It seems sometimes we do.'

Putting Away Christmas?

Christmas is put away in boxes.
Does the inspired generosity live on?
The hope, the warmth, the wish to spread it all around,
Can we express it when the tinsel's gone?

The manger scene is tucked away in tissue;
The busy-ness of life takes up its pace.
Does the love of Christ bear on each daily issue
As we live the duties and the pleasures of the days?

The bells no longer ring on every corner;
The laughter of the family dinner fades.
A spark may gleam and blaze up in the afterglow,
Fueling the beginning hearts have made.

The Christmas tree is stripped of decoration,
Ready to crackle in a lively fire.
Are the flames of Christmas growing still within us,
Helping us to live as we're inspired?

So, we strongly hope that later,
The consummation of our glowing plans we'll view.
We can, yes we can, for our Creator
Can work in us both to will and do.

To follow on, each step in the direction
Of the goal God's gift inspired in our hearts,
Because of joyful Christmas recollections,
We'll see differently the way to do our part.

Choosing step-by-step, the prompting of our Savior,
It's day-by-day some kind deed now and then.
And we'll see the happy change in our behavior
Next year when Christmas things come out again.

Putting away Summer Things

I'm sitting here and sorting out
And putting away summer things.
The less-worn things I'll pack away
And take out at the first sign of spring.

It's with regret we turn our backs
On summer's carefree air
And get out our boots and mitts and wraps
And cover our sun-bleached hair.

Some item long-kept catches my eye,
And I dream a little while.
And I put it back though it's threadbare
And long-since out of style.

I'll tuck it away with fond memories
And discard it first thing next spring.
Just sitting, sighing, sorting out
And putting away summer things.

Rare 'One'

Our language is lacking
Too seldom heard,
The expressive, profound
One syllable word.

Though dictionary scoured,
Thesaurus is too,
I find four syllables,
Three, maybe two.

They are adding the tions,
Ous's and ness's
To get case and tense
The idea expresses.

The much-needed expression,
Too seldom heard,
Still eludes me:
Profound, one-syllable word.

Rat Race

You're keeping all those balls up in the air;
How can you spot the tears on any face?
Or sense the laughter as the crowd moves by
Or catch a hand as you stay balancing in the space?

Where will you connect with others on the way
While you juggle all those shiny balls around?
And how will you catch up with those
Whose smiles and tears you're passing

When all your balls have tumbled to the ground?

School Again

Was it only yesterday, the slamming locker doors,
The ceasing of the chalk on black-or marker on white board?
The swell of laughter, scurrying feet,
And screech as cars take to the street,

The sighs of teacher shelving textbooks, tallying scores,
DQ and Hardees tallying what freed students afford,
And through the town was felt the joyous shout,
'School's out!'

Incredible! The summer days are dwindling, just a few;
The sandlot baseball tournaments have passed.
The beach, long-closed, active once again
With splashing and sunbathing just as then.

For some, the specter looms of curbing freedom found anew,
For others, time to start, resume their sports, see special friends at last.
Perhaps, to see again if that shy smile is there
And speculate through days of summer, 'Does she care?'

The carefree times or summer jobs wind down
And soon school's ordered schedule rules the town.
A few more days to board the yellow bus
Or hike, books in backpack, to the school

Waving their good-bye to Mom and Dad
With firsts, tears may sneak through the glad,
For whom tricycles and tadpoles trade for minus and for plus,
And, it is hoped, to also learn the golden rule.

Some voices protest, some elation raise.
'School days.'

Season Change

I hardly realized that it was summer,
And now I see a few leaves fluttering down.
Asters and wild sunflowers line the roadways,
On milkweed leaves there lies a tinge of brown.

With soothing voice the wind of near-fall whispers,
'Don't dread it. Oh, no! Greet it; it's to love,
For golden days and flaming foliage follow
And glittering frosty morns and harvest moon above.'

But spring came in so very slowly this year,
And summer was a dearly longed-for span.
It seems only yesterday we heard first frog songs.
And swimming suits and picnics filled our plans.

Embrace the days while green trees like bowers surround us,
And dragonflies sail shimmering o'er the stream.
Savor the morning freshness; cherish the evening,
The shadowy twilight followed by the stars' bright gleam.

The lesson of late summer is upon us;
Aside from beauty that it has to give,
Gently announcing the season's coming exit
Reminds us of this, 'While we're living-live.'

Seasons

Sing a song of springtime. Sing! Sing! Sing!
Sing about the songbirds on the wing;
Sing about the flowers flowering.
Come on, let's sing; it's spring.

Sing of summer picnics in the park.
Fireflies are blinking in the dark.
In the morning you can hear a lark.
Sing a summer song.

Sing a song of autumn leaves so bright,
Big, bright, shining orange moon at night.
Frogs go to sleep, and birds take flight.
Sing a song of fall.

Sing a song of winter, whirling snow.
Sliding down the hills we go, go, go.
Laughing at the snowstorms, Ho! Ho! Ho!
Sing a winter song.

Sing a song of seasons God has made.
There before our eyes and ears they're laid,
Senses to enjoy what He's displayed.
Sing Creation's song.

Shapes

With various shapes we are blessed,
Seldom just what we'd prefer.
We should not compare with the rest,
But, so human, we look at 'her'-and 'her'-and 'her.'

Though we're envied some by the plump of us,
The lament of those of the thin of us,
What is labeled the 'gluteus maximus'
Turns out to be 'gluteus minimus.'

However, those of us less-ly gifted
May envy the 'pectoral majorus'
Of those who need theirs uplifted
While ours are 'pectoral minorus.'

And the fullness and bounce of the stern
Of those who are solid and plump
May make the less buoyant burn
At attention given each bump.

The abs, all of us will agree,
Ought to look flat and oh, so, so thin.
Will the strain of it show on our face
As we try holding them in?

And, so the thin or plump of us
If to our need of health will attend,
Can accept each wrinkle and bump of us,
It's what's inside that counts in the end.

Shared

Moon and stars and bridal white,
Joyous wedding day and night,
Winter cold but arms to hold us tight,
And so our union began.

We didn't care so much for wealth;
We pledged in sickness and in health.
Sickness came before we knew
But came with future joy in view,

And so a family we'd plan.
We worked in fields of growing grain,
Prayed for needed sun and rain,
Calves and milk, a farmers gain,

And a harvest to carry us through.
Together courage we would share,
Not an easy year for a brand new pair.
Our daughter didn't live a day;

It wasn't supposed to go that way.
With sad hearts we held warm, loved hands.
Then the bright-leafed fall of another year,
And hope sprang up our hearts to cheer,

Another baby on the way.
With cautious gladness we prepared for the day
And with joy held a precious son.
Then, as it can, a problem crept in,

Caused doubt and sadness to begin.
The elixer said to gladden hearts
Began to tear our trust apart;
Cold prickles and hard walls began.

Through remorse and new hope, we tried to find good;
The years found increasing our precious brood.
Insidious element, please go away.
To make our world right, there must be a way.

We held on, blamed, and tried to forgive.
God sends us hope in odd-looking ways;
Traumatic events bid, 'seek help for the days.'
So our path took a brand new direction,

And, little by little, renewed our affection.
We found new tools by which we could live.
The precious young man, so loved and adored
Not only found help but also the Lord.

The girl so well-loved learned that her place
Was actively sharing as heirs of God's grace.
Never knowing cold prickles, would we cheer when it's warm?
And you're dearer for sharing the storm.

Shared light

It lights up!
A little spark down inside of me lights up
When I think of you.
Your shining eyes, your sparkling smile.

The glow of your dear face shines in my thoughts.
And I know, sometimes I share a little cloud with you
That darkens up inside sometimes
And threatens us with showers to veil the sun.

But I know, as well, we share a Light
We've asked inside to shoo the clouds away.
How blessed I am to share the Light,
To share the shooing of the cloud

With one as dear as you.

Shining Perspective

Our little son with sunlit hair
Sees life in a different light,
Each day a new and sparkling gift
No shadows left from night.

Each sound and moment fresh and new,
No bleak and dragging hours,
Where we see all the pesky weeds,
He sees pretty flowers.

He sees mommies, daddies, grandpas, grandmas
In hurrying, rushing crowds.
We see jet's pollution;
He sees 'airp'ane clouds.'

He finds delight and interest
In everything that moves.
Where we see just a smile or wave,
Would you believe? He sees love.

Singing Summer

Summer sings in my hometown.
As frogs and birds and music for the proms,
Herald a season of marching in parades,
Of dancing in the streets and savoring strains of Brahms.

With honor and gratitude remembered,
Lives given in defending of our land,
Playing of Taps and rifles' sharp salute,
Our hearts moved by the revered and grand.

The loon a haunting tremolo employs;
A katydid trills his descant strains,
Young people raise the sound of pounding rock,
Campfires host kids' familiar refrains.

Gradual or sudden the coming summer heat,
A crescendo builds to Independence Day.
Skyrockets' shrieks follow music of the band
Bright-hued explosions fill the night's display.

Before its brevity tugs at our hearts,
While we savor cheer and tenderness that clings,
As the expanse of winsome days holds on,
We'll join in the song that summer sings.

Singing With Dad

Without a song, the day could have been endless,
Our singing raised above the tractor's roar.
A little joy-could be in busy-ness forgotten
Returns as summer comes around once more.

A helping hand-young hands can be overwhelmed
And that can be a heartfelt wish,
The muscled farmer stepping out of character
To help mop up a floor or wash a dish.

A four-footed friend can be just what's needed
When one tries to keep up, two steps behind.
And I found even being alone could be so lovely
When astride my spotted friend new wonders I would find.

And so I'd grab a little time just for myself,
Feeling so alive and loved and free.
And, as she lazily flicked her ears, I marveled
That you would do a thing like that for me.

Much tenderness can be found in humorous banter,
The callused hands that claimed to teach the sewing art.
And laughing over my many one-dish suppers
Showed more than one might ask a tolerant heart.

God bless the hand that patted my back-higher or lower
And, in the course of living, helped me see,
We all can try, achieve, and leave some good along the way,
Though none are always all we want to be.

Without a song, the road would have seemed longer;
The miles seemed to melt away with, 'What a Friend.'
And Irish songs and folk and hymns and love songs
Sung in the barn as day came to an end.

I'm thankful that you blessed me on my way
And were around as my life went along,
And thankful, that, because of songs we sang together,
I never live my life 'without a song.'

Sing With Me

You'll sing with me again, I hope,
As you've done again and again
When happy songs we sang together
Sped a journey's end,

And the merry children's voices
Joined with mine as the hand of a friend.
Come, sing with me again some time
When the world seems drab and old,

And tensions build, we'll conquer them
And warm away the cold.
We'll make the world all new again,
Pouring out what our hearts hold.

You'll sing with me again, I hope,
And your voice won't hide away,
And treasure as I do the memories
Of another happy day

When voices singing in the rain
Shooed the gloom away.
The old songs of my childhood
Took on new meaning then,

As I shared my happy memories
With dear and little friends.
We tried new and different melodies,
Sometimes with funny ends.

Make a happy time for me sometime,
And sing with me again.

Sing You Home

Let me sing you home, Darling;
The road's been so painful and long.
I hope it would be a little easier
Brushed by the wings of a song.

How many times we sang the way home;
Some times you listened, some times sang along.
And the journey was shortened in laughter and love
Blessed by the sharing of song.

Now, you've trudged the path of struggle and pain,
Giving your best with a smile,
Keeping your chin up, giving me cheer,
Sharing strength from above; it's your style.

Though it wrenches the heart to whisper, 'Good-bye,'
To the lover and dear friend I've known,
Could be, you're being ushered into God's presence,
And, our Savior's face to you shown,

What a privilege to hold you and show you my love
And sing my brave darling home.

Smudged Angel

Do you think I'd let you go to town
With such a dirty face?
How do you dare to run and hide
And make me a disgrace?

Why should water make you run?
I know it isn't fear;
You walked through seven puddles
Before I called you, Dear.

Aha! At last I've conquered you.
It really was a race.
For ten minutes I've an angel
Without a dirty face.

Snow and Soul

Across fields, down the valley cold winds sweep
While in the city, on the highway, life goes on.
In the woodland, snow and silence gather deep.
Alone, in darkness, someone sits alone to weep

And waits for waking sounds of breaking dawn,
To look out on the landscape, snow so deep.
From torn and drowsy thoughts the mists to sweep
And begin a day as time and life move on

And walk away from pits that could go deep.
When moving on is more than step-a leap
To meet again the line that's daily drawn
And focus on the goal, surmount the steep.

Again, into the groove of an expected course to keep
Whose reward is action, doubtful moment gone,
A fresh, uncluttered view through eyes allowed to weep.
Like the gentle woodland, walking out in peace so deep

And join the action of the workday and move on,
Wondering at the beauty of the snow's vast sweep
And, again, to the path of purpose keep.

Songs in the Night

The child born in our later life
Spends more time awake at night.
It's hard to close his sleepy eyes,
And so I sing him lullabies.

As promised, our great God of light
Has given us songs in the night.

Sunday Wash

It's such a busy, busy week,
And so I try to plan
To have some time Sunday for ourselves
If there's any way we can.

I hurry evenings to wash and clean
So that when Sunday comes,
If for some hour we feel free,
There could be time for fun.

Sunday morning is a rush,
Four children to get dressed.
The time they spend in Sunday School,
I spend cleaning up the mess.

Then I find for tomorrow we all need clothes
You'd think could wait past Monday,
And, no matter how I try to plan,
I end up washing on Sunday.

Away from home for a job five days,
Ending Friday what started Monday.
When comes the day I quit this job,
I'll never wash on Sunday.

Taken In

Can it be that stars are sharper, glowing,
Framing the bright sliver of new moon?
Is the dew now courting frosty sparkles,
Daring autumn to invade so soon?

Is there more fog clouding up my storm door,
Hinting of the season almost here?
The haze around the early morning sunrise
Reflects glowing red from that bright sphere.

Do we sense the early signs of autumn,
The bumblebee's lazy circling flight?
Thrill a little with anticipation
For a harvest moon to light the night?

Does it seem birds gather for departure?
Is that their late season leaving call?
Does the pungent smoke of leaves burned beckon
In the heart a twist to welcome fall?

Now the heart that would hold on to summer
Begins beating to a different drum.
Resignation? No a hearty welcome,
Autumn's bright, crisp beauty, let it come!

Telephone Friends

Just give me a jingle, friend,
And share your day.
And I'll share mine with you
If I may.

The years will pull back
And fade out of sight.
We'll solve all the problems
Of the world before night.

When the most treasured thoughts
Of our hearts are revealed,
They'll go running and skipping
Like lambs in the field.

Temporary Solution

Dread Dutch elm disease is back
After thirty years' reprieve.
The trees that grew up hopefully,
Now again we grieve.

Thirty years ago it hit;
Stately elms began to die.
We went for all the remedies
To save what pleased our eye.

We cut and burned, disposed of trash,
Agreed to immunize them.
We planted germ resistant strains;
We would come to prize them.

So, now, we're cutting down the dead,
Dispose of what's unsightly;
Some citizens don't follow suit,
A thing we don't take lightly.

This time it's not priority,
Gross corpses to remove
And it's beyond our power
To move others to improve.

So the gray, gaunt spectres stand,
More weird, perched on by crows.
Resignation reigns supreme;
We hope they'll decompose.

An optimistic thought comes forth,
Relieves a bit our dread;
Soon leaves will fall, and we won't know
Which of the trees are dead.

Thanksgiving

From the first coy, flirty, flaming wave,
When maples hinted at the coming show,
Petticoats of sumac's deep red ruffles swirled;
Aspen and willow flaunted golden glow.

The pirouette of leaves caught by the breeze
That scarcely changed the pattern of the dance,
But, on the ground, green grasses welcomed leaves
That skipped and twirled and charmed the passing glance.

Then, off come leafy garments, baring limb,
Taken unabashed by western wind and rain,
But staunch oaks in burgundy rust trim
Shelter in rustling foliage exposed terrain.

As the dawns begin to find the world more bare,
And warmth has fled along with shortening days,
Reflection on the harvest, evidence of care,
Brings forth a gratitude, a dance of praise.

And, as the winter starts to close its gate,
In warmth of family love our thanks to God we pray
And gather through the years to celebrate
The crown of harvest on Thanksgiving Day.

The Ancient Bagel

It's sitting in my toaster;
I'm hoping for the best.
It's been a long time in the fridge,
Not eaten with the rest.

It just got left there on its plate
When the company was gone.
Seems that no one ever likes
To pick up the last one.

I'm looking for the cream cheese,
Hoping it's still fresh,
That my morning snack has not
Gone the way of all flesh.

After having company, the fridge
Gets filled to the max.
Things in front get used up,
Not so with things in back.

So it was with this small bagel
And its topping of cream cheese,
Closed in their respective baggies,
Waiting for some taste to please.

I say, 'Thank you,' to that toaster
And the seals that kept out air.
Now I'm enjoying my morning snack,
Tasty, if ancient, fare.

The Kite

Sheets of paper, bits of string,
Strategically secured,
A vision for the outcome,
Patience can be endured.

The balance-test and try it out,
Colors to catch the eye,
String adequate for lofty aims,
Watch for a windy sky.

If clouds just race a little,
The kite will quickly lift.
Hope to maintain elevation
If the wind should shift.

We run, kite held to catch the wind;
It's caught, shifts up, goes high.
The string goes taut within my hand;
For a moment, I can fly.

The Meeting

You came to me in springtime
With a precious love to share.
I met you with laughter
And daisies in my hair.

Through the fleeting days of summer
We shared life hand in hand,
In each other's thoughts in fields of toil,
Under stars and lakeside sand.

The thoughts and feelings locked away
Were shared with trust and ease,
The dreams that seemed unlikely
Became possibilities.

So, through the cherished summer days,
The love that started grew.
Nothing seen or heard complete
'Til it was shared with you.

Then came the chill of autumn
When summer loves decline.
The glory of my story;
The autumn made you mine.

The Plan

Let's thank the Lord who had a plan
To use a woman and a man
To fill the world and multiply
To marvel at a baby's cry,

To become a family,
A woman He designed to be
A mom.
So each of us has come to be,

Through our mothers, this world to see.
Some who sang a cradle song,
Some lives brief and some lives long,
Some lives serene, some filled with strife,

Each of them has given us life,
Our moms.
The fulfillment that a mom attains
Is partly pleasure, partly pain.

Some have found a lot of joy
In nurturing another's girl or boy.
In every time and every place
A child needs a parent's hand and face,

A mom.
In light of day, at night, or dawn,
We've seen first glimpse of daughter or son.
Or waited years to hear that they

May come into our lives to stay.
They give our lives a different hue
Some bumps, some tears, some laughter too.
We see His wisdom from above;

He's given us to raise and love
Our kids.

The 'Real' Santa

'He's something generous in your heart.'
'Not in the North Pole?'
'Well, really, he's a spirit. Dear, you see,'
'He doesn't come and see us with his reindeer?

You mean it's true what they all say to me?'
'That makes us want to give at Christmas,
And share with everyone that we hold dear.'
'But, Mom it's hard to believe that he's not real.'

'It's a special feeling at this time of year.'
'Honey, you can help be Santa this year;
You've been so sweet and generous all year long.
And, as you're helping me to fill the stockings,

Maybe in your heart there'll be a song.'
'You're sure you always have done this, Mom?'
We put candy and apples in stockings carefully
And, though we chuckle and whisper our conspiracy,

The loss of wonder weighs a bit on me.
Tucked in, no footsteps creep out to the stairway,
No waiting big, blue eyes that just can't close.
But Mommy's eyes don't close so very quickly,

Although the hours are long since she arose.
One more look, brown hair spread on the pillow
And on a warm, pink cheek dark lashes lay.
One more present is placed beneath the stockings,

'With love from Mom and Dad on Christmas Day.'

The Remedy

I took some words and made them rhyme,
Thrilled I could do it all the time,
But found the syllable I stressed
Did not always sound the best.

To a sage of poems I referred
To learn why what I'd said and heard
Lacked a pleasing ring when quoted.
This is what the wise one noted.

'To make your words both sing and sway,
You may better it this way.
The secret is-the very trick
Employ pentameter iambic.'

The Snow Plow

The first one through the vast, white stillness
Piled up like marshmallow topping on the morn;
A hint of sun paints pink across the landscape,
And cotton candy clouds belie the storm.

It cuts a path between snow-laden wires
And trees that stand white-shrouded, stately ghosts.
Its whirling light sparkles on the lingering flurries,
And its blade spray tosses frosting on the posts.

Time Change

It'll be light a bit earlier mornings,
Dark by late afternoon.
We'll feel like buttoning up the day
As evening intrudes so soon.

Outside work will be done by the yard light,
And TV will seem extra nice.
Maybe we'll rise to the occasion
And take out Scrabble or Yahtzee with dice.

The lights of the city may beckon
More appealing in contrast to dark,
So dinners are accompanied by sparkle,
And street lights illumine the park.

Or we'll just settle in by the fire
While a log on the grate crisply burns,
Another sign of the changing of seasons
As standard time once more returns.

To A Courteous Driver

I'll never call you stranger, Sir;
You made my day all right
When I tried to turn on the slippery street
Before the changing light.

You knew you had the right of way,
But you smiled and let me by.
You must have thought, 'Foolish woman.'
I thought, 'What a nice guy.'

How many that we meet each day
Care if we live or die?
But you reminded me that some do care
When you smiled and let me by.

You were, indeed, a friend to me
In that moment of kindly courtesy.

Today

Another fall rolls 'round again,
With brilliant leaves ablaze.
Frogs think of sleep, and birds fill up
For a trip of many days.

On silver hair-maybe touched-up,
Wind ruffles or sun shines.
The richness all around us
Affirms the passing time.

We haven't quite crossed over
To days of winter breeze.
But coming after the color
Is the magic of frost-trimmed trees.

The joys and hurts of rolling years
Leave memories, some sublime.
And, so we live the joys and tears
Just one day at a time.

Toddler Morning

The stillness is broken,
Borrowed moments at dawn
When the blankets feel warm,
And the night's not quite gone.

Vague thoughts of day's duties
Intrude on the mind;
Settling in deeper
Escape briefly find.

Those brief, pre-dawn moments
So lazily sweet
Are quickly transformed
By pajama clad feet.

Eagerly bounding
Determined to climb
Into our retreat,
They remind us of time.

A soft, little voice
Saying, 'Mommy' or 'Dad'
And churning elbows and knees,
Getting up's not so bad.

Insistent encouragement
Coaxing his special way,
Urge our feet to the floor,
And we start the day.

Transfer

New ground shines before your feet;
Your eyes will soon behold it.
The place a stranger, soon a friend,
In new regard you'll hold it.

Just hang in there; hold that old love.
Those strange days will soon be over.
Though delayed, your heart, too will arrive
'Under separate cover.'

Vision

Oh, Lord, who grants us tendencies
To thrill at places high
And marvel at broad vistas,
Help us see things through Your eyes.

You see the end right from the start
And know the soul's intent,
Still freedom give to think and act
According to one's bent.

You see beyond the fault so black,
Self-centeredness and greed
And seek to save and salvage
Because You see the need.

Your creation intricate and vast
Shows us an infinite heart,
To Your created ones endow
Of Your great self a part.

Senses Your creation to enjoy
Emotions to emulate
Just a bit of Your compassion,
To Your empathy relate.

May we in man or nation,
See the good You would impart,
Not shallow observation,
But Grand Canyon of the heart.

Waiting

Mr. Rogers blazed the way for me;
I seldom face frustration.
His 'Something To Do While You're Waiting' song
Often saved me aggravation.

So I pick an activity
To do 'til the time is right.
I'm blessed to have some task all done;
No impatience skews my sight.

The one for whom I'm waiting, though,
Responds to this, 'Oh, no!'
For I may not have finished it
When he says that it's time to go.

I blithely reassure him, 'Dear,
I know we won't be late,
And so, until I finish this,
Find something to do while you wait.'

Wednesday, November 5

The decisions are made;
The votes have been counted.
Now our differences
Must be surmounted.

The Lord God has stated
That He has ordained
The government over us.
Loyalty should be unfeigned.

If the team at the top
Are not ones we chose,
Let's give them respect,
Though ideas oppose.

In this nation of choice,
We still have the option
To state our views to our reps
In laws' or actions' adoption.

So that our part in this land
Will not be detractive,
We'll get off our duffs
And be more proactive.

If the winners should be
The very people we named,
Guess what? I'd say
Our best move is the same.

Welcoming Spring

Come, let's put on
Our last year's jackets
And old shoes, and skip
The mud puddles and

Walk in ragged grass
Left over from the fall.
Let's brush out our hair
And feel the warm,

Moist wind, the spongy earth
Left damp from melting snow.
The world is like a tramp
Roused up from sleep

By the warm sun,
Uncovering debris scattered
About through months of
Closed-in sleep

Beneath the snow.
Let's find a hill
To feel the wind
And share the new

And reminisce.
Let's find a sentimental
Song to sing.
Come out with me

And be a part of spring.

What Manner of Love

You're joying over me with singing,
Your laughter lighting up Your face.
When my little efforts look to me like nothing,
You elevate me with Your marvelous grace.

You look at me and see Your incomparable Son;
You've covered me with His cleansing blood.
It isn't the greatness of my efforts
That makes me lovely, worthy to be loved.

You've washed me. Clothed me in Your righteousness
And daily from my bondage set me free.
You took my wrongs, gave to me Your goodness
And with Your precious name You honor me.

'And what is it that I can do,' I ask You,
'To show my gratitude for all You've done?'
You've shown me; now I need Your strength and Your direction
To help another of Your children find Your lovely Son.

Wildflowers

Ah, the site we dreamed to own
Had nature's charm galore,
Trees of every size and shape
Flowers, ferns on the forest floor.

How to tame that lovely hill
Enough to make a home,
Keep the ambiance of nature
And still make it our own.

With building and backfill complete,
The time was now at hand
To landscape it in such a way
To have our dreamed-of land.

Grasses that love the sun or shade,
Lush lawn to mow and groom,
A glass expanse facing the trees
Brings nature in the room.

Now, when we mow and keep it neat,
Our orderly side to please,
We've decided to leave spots and strips
Of wildflowers between the trees.

And, when we work around our lawn
Or sit back and take our ease,
We feel nature's hand in the strips and spots
Of wildflowers between the trees.

A precious child that we so love,
Shining face, engaging grin,
Can become more of what's meant to be
With caring discipline.

Still children need the space allowed
To imagine and to dream,
To gaze up in a fluttering tree,
Toss pebbles in a stream.

So, now, the life that they may live,
Both order and freedom to please,
In their spirits, may they have spots
Of wildflowers between the trees.

Wild Geranium

Fresh, open, and as innocent as daisies,
But with lavender rounded petals five,
They dot the roadsides, edge of woodlands, saying,
'It's late spring and good to be alive.'

Unlike its contemporary, Daisy,
Its number of petals always is the same.
Plucking daisy petals, 'He loves me; loves not,'
A different message each time may proclaim.

On its slim stem with abundant foliage,
It carries a message graciously sublime.
If ever you should choose to pluck its petals,
It tells you that, 'He loves me.' Every time.

Winter Coup

It's a long, long winter.
Who knows what it brings?
It won't be a sprinter
That brings us to spring.

We'll plod through the snow,
Some dreams lived, some on hold.
Winter gales and spring winds know
What cooks in the cold.

What they know will come forth,
May be all just the same.
But those spring winds cavort
And new things may proclaim.

A heart frozen with grief
May begin to unbend,
A tired mind find relief,
Commencing to mend.

A fallacy seen
May give way to the truth,
A new way realized,
A renewed lease on youth.

Some twinkling eyes
Like the glitter of snow,
May shine with surprise,
With enlightenment glow.

Long-dormant ideas,
Through brooding, may hatch
In the matrix of March;
Broken shells we dispatch.

Dear seemed the illusion;
Solid ground is the fact.
The bathwater's gone;
The baby's intact.

The winter is long;
The winter is cold.
Seeds of dreams, unsung songs
Under snow it may hold.

Toward the Tropic of Cancer,
The season's revolved,
Some mysteries heightened,
Others resolved. Voila!

Winter's Demise

Swirls of winter snow built up
Elegant peaks and swales.
'Neath the relentless rays of March's sun,
Winter's power pales.

The shapes of winter disintegrate,
Quaint gnomes with crooked beards
And odd-shaped caps of upturned soil,
Comical and weird.

Little frost sail-shapes across the pond
Appear only on early spring dawn.
When they're struck by the sun's first rays,
They're forever gone.

The first green spears of grass appear;
Rippling brooklets start to sing,
And Old King Winter's castle
Trickles into spring.

Wishes for Daughters

I've told you many, many times,
'Act with caution and take care;
Don't open the door to strangers
When your mother isn't there.'

We must watch out for thieves and robbers
Or those who might cause harm,
So we ask only honest friends
To come into our home.

Our little daughters sleeping
So innocent and dear,
I hope that I can tell your hearts
The things you need to hear.

When love comes knocking at your hearts,
And when in love you fall,
I pray that love's an honest friend
When it comes to cal

With You

'I'll be what you want me to be, Dear Lord,'
I sing, inspired, and I will,
But You'll have to shape me; I haven't the power
To even want to try that hill.

'I'll be what You want me to be,' I say,
And, just when I'm certain, I fall.
So, Lord, in the strongholds of my heart,
You'll have to break down the wall.

You came in when I asked, just as You said;
You promised me life anew,
But I'll need Your help if, short of Heaven,
I'm to be any more like You.

So I'm asking You to be my strength.
Open my eyes to see as You view.
And, as I grow, sometimes with Your help,
I'll do what You want me to do.

Wonderful Choices

The green leaves of summer
For some mark the time
When life is so rich
And nearest sublime.

The autumn's vast glory
Touches the heart,
In closing the season,
Displays nature's art.

The winter is crystal
with castles of snow
And brisk, merry fun
And cozy, warm homes.

But spring hides her newness
In each bush and tree,
And amidst bare, brown branches,
Life creeps up on me.

Words

Why do we feel we must record,
Put thoughts and feelings into word?
Of eyes the tears, of feet the dance,
Exciting risk and thrill of chance,

The pain of loss, the triumph sweet,
Tenure of moment so entreat?
That, set in record, we may hold
Comfort of warmth, the chill of cold.

Or, by recording them, may we
Find a secret, hidden key
To open some elusive door,
Or lock in feeling evermore?

Youth

I bade my youth a sad farewell
When I was twenty-one;
There had been many wintry days,
Doubting power of the sun.

Though it seemed life had passed me by,
The young around brought joys;
In spite of transient thoughts of gloom,
There was laughter of girls and boys

I found through trials, I wasn't in charge,
God's love light started to show,
And, so it was at thirty-nine,
I bid youth a glad 'Hello.'

Table of Contents

Acceptance
A Christmas Modification
AFriend At Hand
Amandas Departure
April
Arise Jerusalem
Aspirations
Aunts
Away from Home
Baby Smile
Banners
Banners Again
Beautiful Sounds
Before TheHay Grows Tall
Blessed Dilemma
Boomer
Bossy Memories
Bro
By Grace
Candidate
Change of Heart
Choke cherries
Christmas Frog
Christmas Home coming
Christmas Joy
Christmas Morning in the Barn
Crossing
Cyber Dance
Dancing Years
Dandelion Fluff
Dandelions
Death Knell
Deployment
Disillusioned
Easter Morning
Egg Hunt
Enchanted Endurance
End of Shift
Fair ime
Farmers Song
Fickle Autumn Wind
Fire flies
Fire on the Ice
First Holiday
First Spring Breeze
Friend
Gift
Gift of Faith
Glass Dish
Good Night Kiss
Graduation
Grand daughters
Grand sons
Hauling Wood
Hey Brother
Holding
Hope
Humorous Hunt
Husband
Intrigue
Its Coming
Klutzy Focus
Late Blessing
Lawn Thoughts
Layers
Lazy Mans Thread
Learning to Dance
LetLive
Living that Way
Loveona Tree
Maori
Maturity
May
Memory
Moon light Example
Morning Call
Mothers In law
Nag
Names
Nancy
New Day
Night Hunt
Nontraditional Student
Not a Romance
Notation
NotProse
Of a Soiled Postcard Or Raised Postal Rates
Of Food and Jail
OfWorth
On Dietrichs Hill
Organization
OtherFoot
Our Older Home
Paradox
Party
Points
PonyBoy
Precious Persuasion
Progressive Dinner
Putting Away Christmas
Putting Away Summer Things
Rare One
Rat Race
School Again
Season Change
Seasons
Shapes
Shared
Shared light
Shining Perspective
Singing Summer
Singing With Dad
Sing With Me
Sing You Home
Smudged Angel
Snow and Soul
Songs in the Night
Sunday Wash
TakenIn
Telephone Friends
Temporary Solution
Thanksgiving
The Ancient Bagel
The Kite
The Meeting
The Plan
The Real Santa
The Remedy
The Snow Plow
Time Change
To A Courteous Driver
Today
Toddler Morning
Transfer
Vision
Waiting
Wednesday November
Welcoming Spring
What Manner of Love
Wild flowers
Wild Geranium
Winter Coup
Winters Demise
Wishes for Daughters
WithYou
Wonderful Choices
Words
Youth