Posts Tagged ‘mother’


This poem is in progress. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts on this one.

(From My Youth)

In memory of my Mother
I write this little poem
On how she nurtured all us kids
And made our house “feel” home

There were many happy moments
When we’d sit on the swing
I’d ask for all my favorite songs
While urging her to sing

And she’d sing those old-time ditties
That so amused us all
We’d ask to hear them many times
When we were very small

Other poignant memories
That I would never trade
Are Sunday noon’s family fun
And countless games we played

We learned to be good losers
But gracious winners, too
That quarreling settled nothing
Advice we all found true

She gave us all a chance to win
And when the games were done
We made fudge or “skillet candy”
While sharing kitchen fun

She laughed with us, and cried with us
And shared our childish woes
With big doses of sage advice
That a wise mother knows

08-31-09 Poem in Progress

Phyllis Adair DeWitt-VanVleck

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So much like our Mother
This sister of mine
That when I’m around her
It takes me back in time

It’s not just resemblance
(Which is indeed there)
It’s everything about her
That one might compare

Her voice and her demeanor
Her gentle caring ways
And the Christian way of life
That dominates her days

She’s a first class Mother,
A lady through and through
She’s the greatest of sisters
And the dearest friend, too

With Mother’s very finest traits
Let me tell you this
She adds some fine ones of her own
And I’m proud to call her, Sis


Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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She sits there in her rocking chair
With Bible in her lap.
The wrinkles time has given her,
Like tracings on a map.

There’s nothing quite so lovely
As her dear age-lined face.
She’s almost like a cameo
With collar of white lace.

She lives now in her memories
Carefully filed away.
She draws upon them at her will
And visits yesterday.

And when I sit and chat with her,
I, too, step back in time,
Remembering care she gave to me
When she was in her prime.

She’s the picture of contentment,
Hands folded as in prayer.
Her time is short, but still she smiles
And slowly rocks her chair.

8/29/92 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

1’st … Indiana NPD 1993

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Come sit with me beside my fire
And share its warmth and glow
We’ll talk about life’s journey
And memories long ago

Life sure has bonded you and I
The way it’s meant to be
I leaned on you for everything
Now you can lean on me

You’ve been a mother and a friend
And shared my growing pains
I learned from you, life’s beautiful
Yes, even when it rains

You helped erase my girlish fears
And made them go away
Your hand upon my fevered brow
Helped me endure the day

So many things I learned from you
Way back from the start
And they’re a perfect legacy
All etched upon my heart

We’ve covered many years this hour
And the coals have almost died
But it was perfect sitting here
With my mother by my side

9/3/02 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

3’rd. … Arkansas NPD – 2002

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She never complained of hardship,
For like others of her kind,
She accepted the hand life dealt her
And never looked behind.

The barren plains seemed cruel at times,
With luxuries all too few.
Besides a woman’s usual chores,
She labored outdoors, too.

The tedious chores of making soap
And slopping the old sow,
Then churning butter from the milk
Of a brown jersey cow.

She helped her husband in the fields.
She made her family’s clothes.
Made feather-beds and big straw-ticks,
And tended grapevine rows.

She tilled the garden with great zest
And harvested the crop.
She worked long hours, rain or shine,
It seemed she could not stop.

This woman of great character
Was mother, wife, and cook.
She was carpenter and farm-hand,
With all the strength that took.

She was teacher and repairman,
And many times, a vet.
Her days were long, her nights were short,
But needs were always met.

She found no time to sit and rest,
Most work was done alone.
I think the pioneer woman
Was our nation’s corner-stone.

8/31/92 Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

5’th … Arkansas NPD 1996

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When it was over, he came home.

Not marching proudly to cheers.

Not saluting the flag he served

nor waving from an open car.

He came home in a box

draped in the colors of his country,

and his family wept.


Twenty years is but a sip

of life’s sweet nectar . . .

There will never be a wife to hold,

a son to dog his footsteps,

or daughter to ply her wiles on Daddy.


His Mother hadn’t seen him

for two years, and at the services

she wanted to kiss him goodbye,

but knew she could not raise the lid

of his military coffin

sealed thousands of miles from home.

Instead, she asked, “Did they wash his face?”

“Did they place a pillow beneath his head?”


During her final illness

I overheard her speaking softly

to her beloved son.

She passed away, content

in what he had told her,

a smile on her face

as she joined him.



2/18/93        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck


5’th … NFSPS – 2000

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