Posts Tagged ‘memory’

Grandma’s Silver Hair



Can I brush your silver hair, Gram?

It looks so soft and fine.

And as I plait your silver braid,

With love I will entwine.


Will my hair be so pretty, Gram,

When I reach sixty-eight?

I hope it shines like yours does now

I think your hair looks great.


My Child, I’d trade these silver strands

For your bright golden locks,

If I could have your youthful zest

And turn back all the clocks.


And yet, my Dear, if that were so,

There’d be no precious child

To brush my lengthy shiny hair,

Then, child and Grandma smiled.


She passed the brush to youthful hands,

Unpinned her long cascade.

She felt love flowing through the brush —

That touch, a serenade.


They treasure this sweet moment,

For it will add a page

To memory’s book that years provide

From youth to golden age.


8/2/90         Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck        


1’st … PAW (in Pa) 1991

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A little book of poetry

Lies upon the shelf

Penned words revealing who I am

All written by myself


The once blank pages almost speak

When opened to the rhymes

For heart and soul, in black on white

Bear essence of the times


The leather cover’s brittle now

With title worn away

The yellowed pages loose and torn

But treasured to this day


It opens to a special verse

Where pressed upon the page

Is a flower that I placed there

At quite a tender age


A ribbon marks another page

A poem that makes me weep.

Other poems can make me laugh

Or dream sweet dreams, in sleep


God’s blessings fill some pages

Not written as a whim

For the pages would be empty

Without this gift from Him


When memory tugs my heart and soul

The book becomes my friend

As I turn the fragile pages

And read the words I penned


When I depart this earthly realm

I’ll leave a bit of self

Found within the written words

Of the book upon the shelf



5/29/94 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck


3’rd … Arkansas NPD 1994

6’th…. Indiana NPD 2001


      REVISED 2003

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Cameos of Love


Soft fingertips of memory
In moments so sublime
Reach gently back into the past
Recalling by-gone time
7/12/00 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


On his sad lonely grave,
A yellow flower grows.
A teardrop catches sunlight
On the petal of a rose.

8/10/90 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Blue box that has an open lid

            Blue ribbon peeking out

Blue letters that the ribbon tied

            Hold frequent words of doubt

Blue pages fill her diary

            Blue memories on her mind

Blue tears once filled her broken heart

            For love o’er which she pined

Blue paper, torn and faded now

            Blue words she penned in rhyme

Blue flowers now pressed dry and flat

            Came from a grievous time

Blue shawl that keeps her shoulders warm

            Blue shadows ‘neath her brow

Blue eyes so lively in the past

            Are clouded over now

Blue robe across her aching knees

            Blue clasp in thin white hair

Blue veins in her old wrinkled hands

            That hold the box with care


“Blue isn’t just a pretty hue,”

            She whispered of her past

Then slipped away to death’s blue deep

            The blue box closed, at last


12/17/89    Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck


5’th … Indiana NPD 1990

2’nd … Paw (in Pa) 1991

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The Blue Waltz



Of all the songs he played for me

With violin and bow

My favorite was The Blue Waltz

He played so sweet and low


I’d whirl around the room alone

In time with that sweet song

And often I’d just close my eyes

And softly hum along


I rock-a-byed my little ones

Humming those sweet strains

And as they grew, I’d hum again

To sooth their growing pains


The violin is silent now

Stilled when it’s owner died

It lies upon my closet shelf

Stained with tears I cried


But in the early morning hours

And frequently at night

I think I hear The Blue Waltz played

Ethereal and light


It flows through years of memory

As lovely as before

Oh, how I wish that violin

Could play that song once more


3/12/01          Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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