The wrinkles in your heart,
Can reflect the smile lines on your cheeks.
A little ripple of happy to start.
And the laugh that always seeks.
Don't let them become frown lines.
You have them too on your face.
But as long as the love shines,
You can keep them in their place.
© By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)
Beauty In Unexpected Places
Stripped of all her little "ways,"
Helpless and beautiful she lay
With the lines of her dear face
Mapped with courage, grace.
She fought the battle of her life,
And still, and still, in strife,
She made faces, entertained, smiled,
Gave us who love her courage and while,
Now accepting, with a rose-like face,
Creamy, beautiful, relaxed from her race,
She sleeps, we pray, to dream so sweetly,
Knowing she is loved so deeply.
© By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)
TRIBUTE TO MY CUMBERLAND GAP GRANDMA
My Grandma was born in the Cumberland Gap, Claiborne County, Tennessee on April 27, 1885. She passed from this life in April of 1989 at the age of 104 in good health but with a worn out body. She never owned a television set, a car, an air conditioner, a washer and dryer, a bathtub or shower, or any of the things we think we can't live without today. However, she was one of the richest people in spirit I have ever had the privilege to know.
Grandma only had a third grade education but her wisdom was well beyond a college degree. She never wore perfume, deodorant, make up, had a permanent in her hair or had jewelry, but she always seemed fresh, clean and wholesome. I was in awe of how she could work. She built wood fires on which large galvanized tubs of water would be put to heat. Then came the soap, whittled with a paring knife into the boiling water Next she would take a large pole fashioned for stirring the soap and water and scrub on a scrub board for her, my Grandpa and eight children. Those eight children were all born at home, no hospital for my Grandma with all the high tech instruments and medications. She was a simple woman of many talents from cold pack canning to quilting.
The old iron stove which burned wood for heat would bake my Grandma's black berry cobbler to perfection. The chiggers were never a deterrent to picking those tasty morsels. Grandma would pick until there was enough for her cobblers. One of my favorite things in the world was my Grandma's cobbler at the old oak kitchen table in her meager little farm kitchen, but that was not prized above her home made butter with the wheat design on top and the little beads of moisture glistening in the light of the kitchen. The old churn would get a work out to make that wonderful butter, but I delighted in sitting next to her watching with eager anticipation for the milk to occasionally spill over the wooden top.
Grandma's day was filled from day break to dusk with chores and more chores, but I never heard her complain. I've seen my Grandma sit and read her Bible and go to church, walking all the way. Not one of her eight children was ever in trouble or caused her grief. In her old age, they would rise up and call her blessed.
Grandma survived a tornado and many storms of life, but to the end she was a good and faithful Mother and wife who always seemed to put herself last. She and Grandpa were married for over 60 years.
My Grandma was a small woman, four feet nine and weighing in at about 90-100 pounds. She ate like a child so that everyone else would have plenty. Most of the time she ate standing up in order to serve everyone else or ate after everyone else was finished.
In my heart and mind, my Grandma will always be a simple woman of great stature. I can still see my Grandma standing outside on the porch waving good bye and reminding us to come back soon. What the world needs now is love, sweet love, and some more women with a spirit like my Cumberland Gap Grandma.
© By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com)
He went away but kept in touch
Sent her roses and candy and such
Alone she dreamed of him in dreams
A marriage planned in all her schemes
She lay back on her sofa bed
Stuffed her mouth with sweets and books she read
He stayed away much much too long
On the radio she heard love songs
Around the world he took a sail
Sending her goodies daily through mail
Daily she lounged about and ate
She was growing wider at this rate
Finally after years across the sea
He came home and said oh my oh me
What happened while away from home
Is this the same gal I left alone
But then she smiled love in her eyes
Yes she said now you see how time flies
© By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)
Amos Bronson Alcott
Despised a wrinkled heart,
Unlike the one that he’d got,
Smooth from the very start.
Perfect in ev’ry way,
Gentle and always kind,
People were heard to say,
“Such a heart’s hard to find.”
His dear wife, however,
Had wrinkles on her own,
Heart flaccid, and never
For kindness was it known.
Roses he often sent,
But still she was distressed.
He stole her heart, intent
On having wrinkles pressed.
A tailor took one look,
At the mean woman’s heart,
And his head sadly shook,
“Wouldn’t know where to start.”
© By RickMack (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Just An Old Picture
I removed the books and magazines from the old china hutch and
I saw an old sepia toned picture in a simple thin frame.
Carefully I pulled it out and to the window went,
My heart in a flutter as I tried to the words read.
As I stood in the strong sunlight, as the picture I did tilt,
I smiled and and the words did read.
Art and poetry were not an in thing with any of my relatives,
They looked at nature and . . .
Immediately my thought was,
“When I look up I behold, a rainbow in the sky . . .”
As I looked at and studied this exquisite old picture,
Someone had long ago painted.
I read the words as I did smile, my heart a going pit a pat.
And then I thought of Granny Em who I barely do remember.
I got two pieces of carboard and put the picture between them,
Put them in a bag and went to see an artist friend.
When I did show it to him, my heart did fall immediately,
For it has disintergrated and was no more.
The simple words and the picture, in my heart are etched,
As I am now experiencing those old age encumberances.
© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)