all seems strange and gives you a start.
But let Mom explain with all her heart!
What’s this red spot on my face?
You ask the mirror as you look in disgrace?
Quick! Jump in the car and we’ll head for a mart!
Just let Mom fix it with all her heart!
It’s part of your years that we call teen!
Your hair isn’t really gonna turn green!
Just enjoy and relax as I play my part.
Your Mom walks beside you with all her heart!
A Road Trip of Life
A road trip of life for eighty six years,
as she traveled fearless, filled with glee.
Though at times she possibly would shed a tear,
her spirit was always soaring and free.
She traveled oft’ unhampered,
as she managed well her cares.
Any pain was always tempered,
as the wind blew through her hair.
Was she ever being reckless,
as the road would twist and wind?
It wasn’t that she was feckless,
only curiosity driving her mind!
Yet as always the road doest end,
the trip can’t last forever.
The Shadow of Death soon beckons,
as much as we hope it never!
But two truths remain about this dark creature.
Shadows ne’er can hurt you, tho’ hard as they fight.
And their appearance is not a natural feature,
they can only be caused by light!
So as her trip quietly ceased and her
eyes closed silently in the night.
Startled curiosity was gently eased,
as she looked up and saw the Light.
Her Hands
Her hands were always moving so busy,
their speed could certainly cause a tizzy.
Fingers like her own, oh so nimble.
I wonder? Did she ever lose a thimble?
In her hands, books read with eyes intense,
pages of romance and mystery suspense,
Thousands of words from which to learn.
Not a moment of prose did she ever spurn.
Hours and hours, hands in her garden.
Digging and planting til callouses hardened.
Geraniums, roses, magnolias, hydrangeas,
only few of the many she nurtured so gracious.
Yet hands ne’er too busy to care for me,
shaping and molding so truth I could see.
With her hands in mine knowing life can be cruel,
she lovingly guided me back to school.
Hands that created beaded ornaments of splendor,
decorated my life with love so tender.
How can I tell you of a life wrapped with lace?
How can I describe such hands filled with grace?
Sitting Along the Coast in Yachats, Oregon
Sitting along the coast in Yachats, Oregon,
the wind coolly blowing across our face.
The red sun now tickles the level horizon,
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
