Ruth S. Ozanich

Lake Isabella, California

Ruth has written poetry since her poem, "My Cat", won the first grade contest. Her major interests were arts and crafts until near blindness caused her to become more serious about poetry. She married Anton Ozanich at age sixteen. She helped him through U.C. Berkeley, Ca., They have three children. At age thirty-nine, she returned to college and became an elementary school teacher, until retiring. Ruth just celebrated her sixty-fifth wedding anniversary. Instrumental in establishing "Kern River Poet's and Writers Club" in 1995 and publishing their first chapter book in 1996. She has published poems in local papers, senior papers, and Sparrowgrass and National Library of Poetry anthologies. Ruth believes poetry should be understandable to everyone and is working on her book of poems, "Plain Talk."

Song of Life

A wise old Indian once said to me
Life is like a singer singing his song,
The song may be very tragic and short,
Or very beautiful and long.

For it has been given to every man,
His very own singing time,
To sing his own song of life,
His very own music and rhyme.

A man must go on singing,
Adding more music and new words to sing,
'Till the time given his song is ended,
Until the bird of his spirit takes wing.

If, for whatever may be the reason,
His song loses its music and rhyme,
His heart will break in millions of pieces,
Causing his life to end ahead of its time.

The bird of his spirit will wander,
Forlorn on broken wing,
Far over the deserts of space and time,
'Til it finds another life - Song to sing.

Old Love

Some think love is for the young
And Fool's illusion Time,
But I think love is for the old,
For you I'll sing my rhyme!

Hot young love is passion's tool,
Gluts itself, and asks for more,
Often discontent, feels Fortune's Fool,
Walks out and slams the door!

Old love grows along with Time,
Builds its own illusion
Satisfies itself, in satisfying,
Finds Love's own conclusion.

Yes, I'll I sing of you, Old Love,
And Happy Years we've known,
Reaping harvests of the Lasting Love
That we have sown!

Thanksgiving Prayer

We Thank Thee God
Fo our green hills
For brown turned sod
and flowered hills.

We Thank Thee,
For the sunset's flame,
For ocean's foam,
And dusty lane,

For thrushes singing in the brush,
For Spring's alluring call,
For Winter's magic hush,
We thank thee for it all.