I HOPE THAT YOU ENJOY READING SOME OF MY FAVORITE POEMS AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING THEM.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD Play with me Mommy, the little boy said I can’t right now, I must make the beds Play with me Daddy, a game of ball Sorry Son, I must vacuum the hall. The little boy left, tears in his eyes, No one wanted to take the time, To brighten his world, make him feel secure They’re always too busy, that’s for sure. Then the door opened, Grandma was here, She kissed him, hugged him, brushed away his tears Can you play with me Grandma, just us too? Of course my dear, I have time for you. The dusting, the dishes, the cleaning can wait, I’ll take all the time just for your sake, Someday they’ll be sorry, for you’ll go away, And won’t come to visit for even a day. In their old age, they’ll wish that they could, Turn back the clock and play as they should. It will be too late when they realize, They should have looked at things through your small eyes. Now Grandma is old, but as wise as can be, It’s lovely for you to play with me. Life is short – time goes by, Before we know it, it’s time to die. After we’re gone, the work is still here, But if we take time to play, there’s no fear. Our spirit lives on in our little one’s eyes, Remembered forever, we never die. Copyright©2000 - Mary Alward
THE GREATEST GIFT We don’t know what the future holds, Or what we will go through. It doesn’t really matter dear, As long as I have you. We’ll go through stormy weather And calm seas we will sail, There’ll be those times of sorrow But our love will prevail. We’ll climb a lot of mountains And tread some downhill paths, But if we do it hand in hand, Our special love will last. Hard times are upon us, Our wedding is next week But if we stick together, We’ll reach that distant peak. Christmas will come very soon, A great day it will be. There’ll be no pile of presents, To put beneath the tree. But on each other’s fingers, Will shine the bands of gold. That shows the greatest gift of love That human hearts can hold. Sweetheart what I’m saying, In simple words, but true, This year I’ll get the greatest gift. That gift my dear, is you. Copyright © 2000 by Mary M. Alward I wrote this poem in December 1888, one week before my husband and I were married.
THE POND In the clearing in the forest There was a little pond, Where we used to go and ice-skate We had a lot of fun. The forest was around us With creatures great and small, The beauty of God’s nature, Was a wonder to us all? Jack Frost nipping at our faces, The glassy ice, the frozen laces. The little ones we took along, We held their hands and sang them songs. And then so we’d have time to skate, We couldn’t keep them up too late. We’d give them an old wooden chair, To push along the ice out there. For this is how we learned to stand, Upon the shining silver blades. Then together we would band And crack the whip and feel so grand. The moon shone down on us so bright. The white snow sparkled in the night. We always wished that we could stay, But we’d come back another day. Many hours we have stayed And on that pond we children played, I never will forget those days, When on the pond we all did play. We all grew up and went our ways, Now on the pond no children play. The clearing must feel empty too And miss the games of me and you. We all grew up and went our ways, But I think back to fun-filled days, And wish we all could meet back there, For just one day our games to share. But this small thing we cannot do. The only ones are me and you. The others are all gone you see. We’re all that’s left just you and me. So someday soon we need to meet And reminisce memories bittersweet. For someday we will skate you see, With all our friends eternally. Copyright © 1999 by Mary M. Alward
THE SHACK OUT BACK I slowly creep from between warm sheets And pull my boots upon small feet, I think again of my warm bed, Put on my coat, place hat on head. I step into the frosty night, My heart is thumping hard with fright. The moonbeams light the snow aglow And to the outhouse I do go. Halfway across the yard I see A snowdrift deeper than my knees. I shudder as I climb that bank And almost to my waist I sink. The snow sifts down into my boots. From nearby tree an owl hoots. I turn the wooden latch – and then, I enter that dark musky den. I think of spiders lurking there And run my fingers through my hair. Hike up my coat, push down my pants And then I do a little dance. This outhouse is the finest kind And everyone should keep in mind Not every outhouse has two holes. A fellow can chose where to go. I sit upon the smallest one Cut ‘specially for little buns. The frosty air, the drafty hole Soon help me to complete my goal. Those were the thrills of days gone by. I reminisce and wonder why They banned that little shack outback, For many feet have walked that track. Now when I rise from my warm bed And head toward the John instead, I think back to days of long ago When to the outhouse I did go. One of my fondest memories Is stepping out between the trees And walking down that well-packed track, To use that little shack outback. Copyright © 2000 by Mary M. Alward