Gretchen Kane

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

I was born and raised in Philadelphia but spent many years in the South Florida area, totally enjoying the beauty and majesty of the ocean and tropical flora. Perhaps that is why much of my work revolves around winter and its discomfort. I was widowed twice, too young I must add, and began writing during those years. I am college educated and worked for many years in the property and casualty insurance business and owned two agencies in Florida. My interest and hobbies are in the arts, with writing and music being closet to my heart. I have had several poems published and hope to have my first poetry manuscript published very soon. Writing verse has many rewards, not the least of which are food for the soul and peace of mind and spirit.

To My Daughters

Children are a blessing
no matter what they do...
no matter how they misbehave,
when they belong to you.

You fold these children to your heart
and push the world away,
and give them all the trust and love
and pray that they will stay.

And day to day you watch them grow,
and pride swells in your heart.
You know in many wondrous ways
that you have done your part.

Children are a blessing
and you have had the best.
Then comes the time to let them go..
and God cares for the rest.

Winter's Breath

The sad and soulful eyes of winter
Are staring their icy stare,
And the cold breath from her mouth
Has encompassed us everywhere.

I look out at the stark and barren trees,
Now so greyed with cold,
Remembering the fresh green of their
summer,
It makes them look so old.

Listen to the sounds so sharp on the
winter earth!
Footsteps like a hammer on stone...
Winter's frosty fingers reach inside our
hearts,
It's not the season to be alone.

It's time to start the fire glowing in
the hearth,
And listen to the crackle of pungent wood,
And touch hands and hearts in this warmth.
Oh, if you and I only could,

Around Midnight

When the clock strikes twelve and people are sleeping,
there comes the sound of crying and weeping,

Our souls come out for a glance and a dance
and if we awaken at midnight, by chance,
we're frightened out of our wits at the sight of this
most bizarre spectacle . . . around midnight.

This sometimes is known as the witching hour.
These souls bounce about and try to devour our
feelings of joy and the sweetest of dreams, and
always, just about midnight, it seems.

They play on our heads and taunt us and haunt us.
These poor tortured souls who are lonely and
aimless, who appear around midnight and ruin our
sleep, but we own them forever,
They're ours to keep.