Poetry can reflect changes. The following selections carries me from 1978 to the present . . . from first loves, to the joy of children! Enjoy! - Personal - http://maxpages.com/prufrockcafe/Poetry

You never forget your first love even though you move on in life. I wrote the following poem fifteen years after seeing him for the last time; And even though we've long lost touch, I think of him as fondly today as I did then . . .

then and now ...

I remember so well,
how it was when,
Two strangers slowly,
turned to friends.
A look, a smile,
a laugh, a glance.
A note on my window:
He took a chance.

An icecream fight,
lunch on the grass,
Developing pictures,
right after class.
Reading the Bible,
together in church,
A passage of scriptrue,
together we search.

We flew kites in March,
on a hill we called ours,
And left watermelon seeds,
amongst the wild flowers.
I sometimes go there,
and I smile when I see.
A watermelon patch,
beside hole number three.

The sound of his guitar,
on a dark rainy day,
I could do without sunshine,
to just hear him play.
Wrestling on lawns,
by the light of the moon,
And then saying "good-bye",
on that morning in June.

I look back and sigh,
at this time that I know,
When I was his girl,
and he was my "bo",
And thank God for what,
he could never allow,
And gladly trade then,
for what I have now.

the dance -

life handed me a chance one day,
when all the world was young and bright,
but i opened my hand, it fluttered away,
into the deep still and hush of night

i stood alone awaiting the morn,
expecting the sun to chase the dark,
but it lingered and stayed - an unwelcome guest,
and left my weary soul with a permanent mark

time marched on - i kept in step,
for that was the thing life bid me to do,
but the ghost of the chance stayed at my side,
even when i found love - it hovered there too.

then winds of change and freudian magic,
passed over and joined in my lifes dance,
and handed me a gift tied in lessons learned,
the gift of destiny and second chance

It's funny how children change your perspective on things ...

ALEX

I watch you sleep my little boy,
a mop of soft brown hair,
lies curled beneath my grandmas quilt,
against your skin so fair.

The nightlight shines, the curtains blow,
you squeeze your teddy bear,
It warms my heart, I have to smile,
and then I say a prayer.

"Thank you God for our little boy,
for his giggles, smiles and tears,
Thank you for the little things,
we remember through the years.

Thank you for the bumps and scrapes,
for the dirty hands and knees,
For the dirt he's tracked inside the house,
I give thanks for all of these.

Thank you for his tender hugs,
and his laughter filled with glee,
For the sticky kisses on my face,
This all is joy to me.

Please give me grace to bring him up,
in the way You'd like me to,
And let me be a beacon Lord,
to lead him close to you."

I pull the covers to his chin,
and kiss his little cheek,
And watch him sleep sound in his bed,
this one so small and meek.

I can hardly wait till morning comes,
and he toddles to our bed,
He'll rub his eyes and sweetly smile,
and we'll see that moppy head.

But just for now I'll pause a while,
and take this sight all in,
For it's quite enough to watch him sleep,
with a quilt tucked neath his chin.

This last selection was written for my daughter, Alli. Eric and I would be so tired and yet allow her to climb in bed with us and snuggle down. Once again, this one was sleepily scribbled on paper beside the bed late at night:

The Little Visitor

Your Dad and I were sleeping sound,
and dreaming sweetly I suppose,
When I awoke with a sudden jump,
to the feel of kisses on my nose.

I opened my eyes and there you stood,
a grin so wide from ear to ear,
"Why," I asked, "Are you out of bed?"
"Because I want to sleep in here!"

I hauled you up into our bed,
and put you tween' your Dad and me,
You snuggled down and closed your eyes,
Safe and sound were just us three.

I had the urge to pick you up,
and haul you back to your own room,
But instead I held you in my arms,
Knowing that morning would come soon.

You slept away and never cared,
That your Dad and me were wide awake,
We were poked and prodded by little feet,
And would flinch at every sound you'd make.

We could have slept so sound that night,
Had we simply took you cross' the hall,
But instead of rousing you from your sleep,
We lay there awake and just relished it all.

Cowboy/Annie

"People Exercise an unconscious selection in being influenced." T.S. Eliot

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