GNARLED HANDS AND TIRED EYES
Gnarled hands and tired eyes the last in a chronicled
memory.
Made with years of toil and loving care.
Are what remains of a mothers legacy.
Those hands, once so soft and warm
As they stroked my face to comfort me
With patience taught me how to tie my shoe,
Or cupped a tiny bird for me to see.
With deftness how they sewed my clothes,
Or bandaged a skinned knee.
And yes, with firmness those same hands
Were used when the need was there, to correct an erring way.
Never once did she claim that life had been unfair;
Nor did she ever utter a complaint about the pain she had to bear
In those gnarled hands, or those tired eyes that had lost their sight.
Those gnarled hands and tired eyes continue on as Mother's legacy.
I can see them now as they often were, gently clasped in silent prayer.
|
MY SON
I've watched you grow from a little boy through the course
of life,
Into a strong and gentle man now, who too, has children to enjoy.
Your goodness and your gentle nature, I did not instill in you.
This was ordained from God on High,
And I am ever Thankful for that gift;
For He made you a better man than could have I.
BUSY BEES
Heather planted close around the house.
Tiny purple flowers just as delicate as lace.
In criss-cross patterns busily at their chore
Honey bees a'working at a ceaseless pace.
Momentary hesitation at each stop they make.
Constantly a'buzzing as if in conversation
While they pass the time of day
Doing Nature's work as if it were their play.
|
CANDLED PEOPLE
Candled people lined along the wall in animated merriment;
Their flashing faces all aglow.
Silhouetted shadows dancing in exaggerated mime,
Waxing to a fettered tune, consumed by an elusive time.
Burdened by the brilliant glare;
Shadowed by the passing light.
Never knowing that the merriment
Is as fleeting as the night.
With the dawning of the day those moltened figures waxed their way.
No more to dance and flash about;
Ceaseless time has caused them to be spent,
And they have lost all merriment.
LIFE SUBLIME
Where went the Spring?
When did the Autumn start
In this life sublime?
Tell me when the first robin left
And I will tell when the first leaf fell.
|