Posts Tagged ‘flower’


I caught a glimpse of Heaven today
When a little child of three
Danced around my flower beds
With a look of blissful glee

I heard a bit of Heaven today
When she giggled while at play
Sounds I’ll carry in my heart
Forever and a day

I felt a bit of Heaven today
When she wooed me with her charms . . .
The sweetest kiss upon my cheek
And a hug from little arms

There’s Heaven in a little child
And you can see it, too
Just watch them with an open heart
That’s all you need to do

3/17/00 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Describing a scene of beauty,                                        

With phrases and words on a pad,                                         

I brought the same to canvas,                         

Painted with colors I had.                               


My brush tipped  dazzling dew-drops

Catching the sun’s warm ray,                                            

On a flower’s satiny petals,                           

Before the drops melted away.                              


It unfolded a sleepy flower,                                

And a bumble-bee in flight.                           

It also painted the gauzy wings;

As the words in this poem might.                           


The colorful golden petals

Can almost emit a scent.

My brush made them so descriptive . . .

Just as this poem is meant.


Your mind can walk in a painting.

Its design is felt in your heart.

And poetry evokes emotions

As an art-form counterpart.


There’s flow and grace and beauty,

And those who observe, will find,

They’re the same in poem and painting,

When viewed with heart and mind.


8/19/04         Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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What is it that you measure,

Little “inch worm” on my vine?

You seem to have a purpose

On this massive bush of mine.


You’ve traveled down a tree trunk

But you don’t seem fatigued,

For your pace never lessens,

And that has me intrigued.


Are you mapping out a journey

Where my flower garden grows,

Or headed for a dinner

In a lovely nectared rose?


I watch in fascination

At your undulating crawl,

As you inch on up and over

My little garden wall.


I know I should destroy you

Before offspring’s on the way,

But you’ve worked so hard to get here

I’m going to let you stay.


6/21/95          Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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Shaggy headed little flower

Yellow – like the sun,

You’re amazingly prolific,

For hundreds come from one.


Some say there’s beauty in your face

Like golden light of dawn.

But as you age, your hair turns white

And scatters on my lawn.


Then you stretch your scrawny neck

‘Til your ugly bald head

Is all that’s seen upon my lawn,

And I wish that you were dead.


Mama cooked your greens for dinner,

And Grandpa did his best

To turn you into homemade wine,

You awesome little pest.


I sprayed you with a chemical

And zapped your little crown.

I dug you out with trowel and hoe

And tried to mow you down.


My lawn was pristine once again,

No dandelions in sight.

But not for long, I should have known,

You’d multiply all night.


I plan and plot your last goodbye,

But your intent is clear —

That if I win the war this time,

You’ll just return next year.


2/17/93 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck   


3’rd … Indiana NPD 1994

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I saw a cat approach you

As  you fluttered on the ground

Prepared to pounce upon you

Without the slightest sound 


I hurried to your rescue

And got there just in time

To save you from an early death

While you are in your prime


Then I took you to my garden

Where a flowered bush grows

And there you sipped the nectar

From the center of a rose


Then you basked in golden sunshine                 

And dried your dew-damp wings

While I enjoyed the beauty

That a butterfly brings


1/20/01 – Phyliis DeWitt VanVleck

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The Last Yellow Rose



I found an old book in the attic,

Its pages yellowed by time.

Its cover so brittle it crumbled,

Its title, My Book of Rhyme.


It opened to page sixty-five

Where a flower lay in repose,

And the only words recorded there,

“This is the last yellow rose.”


Intrigued by the masculine writing

And some stains made by tears,

I leisurely read the little book

And found it recorded the years.


The pages held four-line verses

Written in feminine script.

And along with each verse were petals

The creases and binding gripped.


Each verse in the book marked a milestone.

And the petals meant something, too,

For he’d given her long stemmed roses,

As he’d pledge his love anew.


It began on her sixteenth birthday,

With a rose from a shy young lad.

And there followed for years, a yellow rose,

On important events she had.


There were roses marking each birthday,

And a rose that came with a plea,

When he knelt in the young girl’s parlor,

Asking, “Will you marry me?”


There were roses that marked the birth dates

Of four daughters and a son.

And one for each anniversary,

For forty-nine years and one.


The last few pages,  in masculine hand,

Record an aging man’s grief –

“My love is so ill, she’s leaving me.

It’s true, death comes like a thief.


Her sightless eyes can’t see her rose,

So I placed it on her breast.

She smiled when she noticed the lovely scent,

Then she went to her final rest.”


I had finally come to the book’s last page

And the funeral flower he chose,

And the only words recorded there…

This is the last yellow rose.


9/6/90 – Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 1’st … Indiana NPD 1992

1’st ..Arkansas NPD 1994

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