September 24, 2007

• POETRY

  The people that really know me, know that I love poetry.  I think nothing can describe the emotions, joys, sorrows, trials, thrills, and love of life, like a poem.  My Mother was poet, she even had some of her poems and writings published.  Some of my children are poets and too have been published.  I have several granddaughters that are poets.  Somehow or other the talant has skipped me, making me burst with emotions that I would like to put into words.

  My slogan is to this effect;  "Poor indeed is he who lives the poetry of life and cannot express it, or he who beholds the wonders of nature and cannot capture them."    I can't write poetry but thanks to the Master Creator and artist and His awesome creation and light, I have been able to capture very few of the wonders of nature.

  When I was in the 6th grade I memorized a poem and I have never forgot it.  Since I was told to tell a short story of my life in pictures as much as I could.  It would not be complete without this poem. Looking it up on google, I found that it has made an impression on more than just me.  Although it is rather long I am going to share it with you.                                                                                                                  

                                                                                                                                                                                  

  
                                                      PAPA'S  LETTER

  I was sitting in my study,
  Writing letters when I heard
  "Please dear mama, Mary told me
  Mama mustn't be disturbed.
  
  "But I's tired of the kitty;
  Want some ozzer fing to do.
  Writing letters, is ou mama?
  Tan't I wite a letter too?"
  
  "Not now, darling, mama's busy;
  Run and play with kitty, now."
  "No, no mama, me wite letter;
  Tan, if 'ou will show me how."
  
  I would paint my darling's portrait
  As his sweet eyes searched my face.
  Hair of gold, eyes of azure,
  Form of childish, witching grace.
  
  But the eager face was clouded,
  As I slowly shook my head,
  Till I said: "I'll make a letter
  Of you, darling boy, instead."
  
  So I parted back the tresses
  From his forehead high and white,
  And a stamp in sport I pasted
  'Mid its waves of golden light.
  
  Then I said, "Now, little letter,
  Go away and bear good news."
  And I smiled as down the staircase
  Clattered loud the little shoes.
  
  Down the street the baby hastened
  Till he reached the office door.
  "I'se a letter, Mr. Postman;
  Is there room for any more?
  
  'Cause dis' letter's doin to papa,
  Papa lives with God, 'ou know,
  Mama sent me for a letter,
  Do 'ou fink at I tan go?"
  
  But the clerk in wonder answered,
  "Not today, my little man."
  "Den I'll find anozzer office,
  'Cause I must go if I tan."
  
  Suddenly the crowd was parted,
  People fled to left, to right,
  As a pair of maddened horses
  At the moment dashed in sight.
  
  No one saw the baby figure-
  No one saw the golden hair,
  Till a voice of frightened sweetness
  Rang out on the autumn air.
  
  'Twas too late-a moment only
  Stood the beauteous vision there,
  Then the little face lay lifeless
  Covered o'er with golden hair.
  
  Rev'rently they raised my darling,
  Brushed away the curls of gold,
  Saw the stamp upon his forehead
  Growing now so icy cold.
  
  Not a mark the face disfigured,
  Showing where the hoof had trod;
  But the little life had ended-
  Papa's letter was with God.
  

  The poem is annonymous, from the 19th century

  Since I've been going to doctors, and therapist and such, I have one granddaughter that sends me a letter and poem almost every week.  Of course I love all of her poetry, but this one especially spoke to me.

  He Promised Never to Leave Thee.......................

  Let me hold your hand, oh daughter-child of Mine

  Let me share this burden of the life I must refine.

      Let my love wrap tighter, let my presence bless,

      Pain may be your lot in life----but never loneliness.

   

  That I may allow my Father to refine me is my prayer.

  • 11:37 pm
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