Baby’s outgrown dresses,
Saved by loving hands,
Folded with a teardrop,
Mother understands
Babyhood’s a moment
Wishing will not stay,
Leaving poignant memories
Saved and tucked away.
Homespun poetry that makes people happy.
Family Treasures
Greatest Gift
Each time I rise and see the glorious morning,
The rose run, the fresh and sparkling dew.
The baby’s crib where dawn comes slowly creeping,
And hear soft sounds below, I know that you
Have tiptoed downstairs to your waiting kitchen,
Have spread a checkered tablecloth, ironed sweet.
And set the cups and saucers brightly gleaming;
I know my world could not be more complete.
I shave and sing into my mirror;
The spice of baking wafts up the stairs,
And in this paradise you keep so lovely,
I pause and say a deeply thankful prayer.
Morning Thankfulness
I hear a bird’s first silver note,
Melodious from the lawn—
A beautiful awakening,
Another glorious dawn.
I find my robe and skippers
And tiptoe down the stairs.
The family’s gently sleeping;
My heart is filled with prayer.
I’m thankful I can rise and walk
And feel so happy too,
To guide and serve my family
With love the Lord no mother is
More fortunate than I.
Only Daughter
What little girls is this
Who lifts her veil to kiss
The handsome groom?
Why do we gather here
And drop a silver tear
In this candlelit room?
Is it that we must know
Our little girl will go?
Her blossoming
Will not be ours alone
The golden sun that shone
And made us sing
Joins us to bless
Her happiness
Like a warm and gentle flame.
She’s no less ours now, we know,
Yet time that life bestows
In days ahead will never be the same.
Summer Fiesta
Golden afternoons of summer
When the sun is shining high,
And lacy little cloudlets drift
Like cotton in the sky.
Easy hours pass on tiptoe
As a soft and mellow breeze
Shows the silvery side of summer
Under leaves of maple trees.
Then I stretch out in my hammock
Dozing as the hours go by,
To the cheerful chirp of crickets
And a songbird lullaby.
Published in Ideals Best Loved Poems 1976
Old-time Barbershop
The old-time barbershop was more
Than just a place to trim the hair;
‘Twas a jolly club to learn the news,
And met your friends and cronies there.
Clack of clippers, hand-propelled,
The manly scent of good bay rum…
And while the boys relaxed and talked,
A few were harmonizing some.
The older men shaved once a week.
A flowered mug, his name in gold,
Sat on a rack with bristled brush…
A status symbol, frank and bold.
Their rustic brawn well tilted back
These patriarchs of herd and soil,
With lathered stubble are towel-swathed,
Their gnarled hands eloquent with toil.
The barber’s open razor slapped
Against t he strop fixed to the chair,
And then he shaved a half-inch beard,
Like silken strands of baby hair.
Those rugged days of leather boots
And horse-drawn wagons linger yet.
To uphold law, we kept well-read,
That pink, dog-eared Police Gazette.
Oft now and then, some oldster sighs
With far-off look in dreamy eyes
To go with me away back there
To see that old-time barber chair.
Hometown Ideals Published 1968
Happy Birthday
In gayly decorated homes
All up and down the land,
Folks trim and plan for birthdays
With gentle loving hands.
They’ve shopped for weeks selecting
That very special gift,
To make the loved one happy
And give his heart a lift.
The cake is baked and icing
Is deftly smoothed on top …
The children lick the frosting pan
Of every last sweet drop.
A sparkling table has been set
Now each one takes his place,
Sits silently a moment,
To ask for Heaven’s grace.
With candles lit and breathless awe,
Each readies for a shout
When all shall see if he or she
Can blow the last one out.
Love has so many faces,
Untold and tender ways…
A bright and happy birthday
For someone every day.
Friendship Ideals Published 1967