Posts Tagged ‘rhyming’

          LOOKING BACK


In looking back, man’s sure to say,

It never should have been that way.

I’ve made mistakes, some large, some small,

I’d hesitate to list them all.

I truly wish there had been none,

But I can’t change what has been done.

And I fear that if I lived life o’er

I’d do the same as I did before.


Now that really isn’t very strange,

It’s just that people seldom change.


3/16/75         Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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A few lines looking back

         ON THE CUSP


How come the future’s far away

Yet suddenly it’s yesterday

There’s one thing wrong with the past

It comes along much too fast


2/10/00               Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Around the bend, there is a church

With doors that open wide,

Where young and old parishioners

Fill the pews inside.


Nestled among hills and ponds,

It’s christened Cottonwood.                     

It rings with glory and worship,

And defines the neighborhood.


The people in attendance there

Are the best that one can find.

“Just plain folks”, some would say.

Is there any better kind?


Blossoms in the woods out back,

Tall corn across the road.

A tiny curving brook, in spring,      

Near Pastor’s white abode.


There’s laughter in that little church,

And I think it makes God smile . . .

For it fits so well with the serious side,

And that’s Cottonwood’s style 


Walk through those doors on Sunday morn’,

You’ll love what you behold.

The messages uplift your soul,

As you’re welcomed in it’s fold.


I’ll look for you, each time I’m there,

No need for in-depth search,

Since you’ll be drawn to worship at . . .

The Cottonwood Christian Church.



    Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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“Will you still love me when I’m gray,
And all my charms have slipped away?”
“Can I rely on you to stay?”

– – – – – – – –

“With balding head and dentured smile,
I’ll surely go that extra mile
Still loving you, but VINTAGE style!”

Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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My beautiful six year old niece, Lynette, left this earth one Christmas, long ago. This is written with fond memories of her love.


In our Treasure Chest of Memories
There lies in sweet repose
A precious little jewel
That radiantly glows

Its luster will not tarnish
And we recognize its worth
For ‘twas placed there by an Angel
With a mission here on earth

God chose the best He had up there
To share with us awhile
To captivate us with her charm
And with her winsome smile

To know her, was to love her
And like sunshine every day
She left exquisite bits of bliss
On those who came her way

That was her mission here on earth
(Though short it may have been)
And since her work was finished here
God took her home again

Her loss cannot be measured
Her memory will not dim
But it’s not for us to question
It’s always up to Him

God knows what’s best for each of us
As He watches from above
That’s why He had her leave behind
A Legacy Of Love

And when the tide of grief’s despair
Becomes a rivulet
We’ll open up our Treasure Chest
And look deep into it

We’ll find with-in, the gifts she gave,
Once tucked away with care
Now precious jewels of memory
Our hearts will always wear

Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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One year, when I was young, we were quarantined.  I just knew that Santa could not come because there was a big sign in front of our house warning him, and everyone else, away.  So, when dad carried me downstairs and I saw what Santa had brought, I could not believe my eyes. This is a true story from my childhood. 


I want to thank you all for the joy you have brought me this year; reading and commenting on my poems. 


A very Happy Holiday to each and everyone and a Merry Christmas too.


So long ago, on Christmas Eve,

In deep Depression years,

I thought that Santa wouldn’t come,

Yet, I choked back my tears,


I’d chosen from Sears catalog

A doll with real curls,

And longed for her with all my heart –

A trait of little girls.


I dreamed my dreams, as children do,

And hung to hope’s thin thread.

I prayed that doll would soon be mine,

Then snuggled down in bed.


Awaking early Christmas day,

I hurried down the stairs,

And there beneath the Christmas tree

Was the doll of my prayers.


Dressed in yellow organdy,

Trimmed with ribbons and bows,

Stood a doll with real hair

Adorned with satin rose.


This lovely doll of years gone by

Had secrets Mama knew.

I learned them later in my youth,

I swear to you, it’s true.


Mama had taken an old doll

With chipped and painted hair,

Then repainted mouth, cheeks, and ears,

And spots where it was bare.


The darling buttoned oilcloth shoes

That my doll would wear,

Were cut from our big tablecloth,

Each stitch sewn in with care.


She then cut up her best dance gown

To make a ruffled dress,

And what she did about the hair,

I’m sure you’d never guess.


Mama cut off her own chignon,

Which really was quite big,

And fashioned long banana curls,

To make my doll a wig.


This gift my Mother made for me

Was matchless as to price,

But what was priceless, had I known,

Was Mama’s sacrifice.


7/7/88     –   Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck


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