Poetry...

Trying to clean out files on my laptop. Lots of files. One directory I have is titled 'Poems". While reading through to see what I could delete, I found three that I shared with my family. Two for Papa and one for my kids. 

My father loves trees. He loves their color and their shapes. He comments about them all the time. I saved a poem I had to memorize when I was in in elementary school about trees. I took it to Papa to read. He very much enjoyed it. Here it is:

Trees

(For Mrs. Henry Mills Alden)

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks to God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer

I also found a poem Papa sent to me in 2003. Given our current set of circumstances, this is just a mite ironic. Papa laughed at this one as he read it.

My Rememberer Is Broke

 

My forgetter's getting better,

But my rememberer is broke

To you that may seem funny

But, to me, that is no joke

For when I'm "here" I'm wondering

If I really should be "there"

And, when I try to think it through,

I haven't got a prayer!

Oft times I walk into a room,

Say "what am I here for?"

I wrack my brain, but all in vain!

A zero, is my score.

At times I put something away

Where it is safe, but, Gee!

The person it is safest from

Is, generally, me!

When shopping I may see someone,

Say "Hi" and have a chat,

Then, when the person walks away

I ask myself, "who was that?"

Yes, my forgetter's getting better

While my rememberer is broke,

And it's driving me plumb crazy

And that isn't any joke.

The third poem is one I sent to my three children. I titled their eMail..."Get Ready!"  Here it is:

When I am an Old Lady

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with my kids,

And make their life happy and filled with such fun.

I want to pay back all the joy they've provided,

Returning each deed. Oh, they'll be so excited

....When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.

I'll write on the wall with red, white, and blue;

And bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes.

I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.

I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout.

....When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.

When they're on the phone and just out of reach,

I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.

Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,

And when that is done I'll hide under the bed.

....When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.

When they cook dinner and call me to meals,

I'll not eat my green beans or salads congealed.

I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,

And when they get angry, run fast as I'm able.

....When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.

I'll sit close to the TV, through the channels I'll click.

I'll cross both my eyes to see if they stick.

I'll take off my socks and throw one away,

And play in the mud until the end of the day.

....When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.

And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,

And thank God in prayer and then close my eyes;

And my kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,

And say with a groan, "she's so sweet when she's sleeping."

....When I'm an old lady and live with my kids

Nissa was the first to apply and assure me I would not have to eat okra at her home and my bedroom is ready. Jake, who has been to Cracker Barrel with me, said, "Mom 'gagging on okra'? Yeah, right." I only commented that I have been known to order two servings of fried okra when ordering the veggie plate at Cracker Barrel. 

Poetry can be fun on many levels.