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    BUILDING MEMORIES

 

“I wish you’d read to me awhile.”

My daughters often said,

So I’d tuck away the mending

And read to them, instead.

 

“Mom, can you play a game with me?”

My growing son would ask,

So I’d put aside the sweeping

For that far more urgent task.

 

We often sat with drawing books,

Coloring in designs,

While laundered clothes awaited

Their turn upon the lines.

 

There were times the sink held dishes,

‘Though I didn’t like such piles,

So I could romp and play outside . . .

Rewarded by their smiles.

 

At times we’d lie upon the grass

As cloud ships sailed on by,

While the beds awaited making,

And dust was left to lie.

 

Nothing’s changed by dirt or dust,

Or bed that lies unmade,

But the hours given to a child,

Build memories that won’t fade.

 

The most important times in life

Are the hours wisely spent,

When shared with a little child,

For they are heaven-sent.

 

 

5/22/97    Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

 

4’th. … Indiana NPD – 2001

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 NIGHT’S BLESSING

 

 

At the end of the day

            When the sun’s last ray

                        Is just a sliver of light

Darkness starts to descend

            To signal day’s end

                        And the earth nods into night

 

Day’s fragrance is rent

            By night’s earthly scent

                        Daylight beds down with a yawn

As dusk takes away

            The heat of the day

                        The curtain of night is drawn

 

Heaven’s jewels wink down

            From their heavenly crown

                        The landscape’s kissed by the moon

While the frogs and bugs

            On their lily pad rugs

                        Compose a melodious tune

 

Fireflies wing by

            As the breeze gives a sigh

                        Birds settle down for the night

While an owl in a tree

            Winks flirtatiously

                        Then spreads his wings in flight

 

A cloud in the sky

            Drifts lazily by

                        And then it shadows the moon

That strange mournful plea

            Near a lakeside tree

                        Is just the call of a loon

 

Like strings of wee beads

            On webs in the weeds

                        Dew jewels silken threads

Flowers here and there

            Bow crowns as in prayer

                        Nodding their beautiful heads

  

As night settles down

            She puts on her gown

                        To cloak earth’s sleepy breast

For it’s part of God’s plan

            And a blessing to man

                        That we’re given this time of rest

 

6/23/72        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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