Note: Kimberley is my granddaughter. She said she wrote this especially for me because of my love of flowers.
"Thank you Kimberly!"

HAPPINESS

by...Pricilla Leonard

Happiness is like a crystal,
Fair and exquisite and clear,
Broken in a million pieces,
Shattered, scattered far and near.
Now and then along life's pathway,
Lo! some shining fragments fall;
But there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

You may find a bit of beauty,
Or an honest share of wealth,
While another just beside you
Fathers honor, love or health.
Vain to choose or grasp unduly,
Broken is the perfect ball;
And there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

Yet the wise as on they journey
Treasure every fragment clear,
Fit them as they may together,
Imaging the shattered sphere,
Learning ever to be thankful,
Though their share of it is small;
For it has so many pieces
No one ever finds them all.

###

The poem below was written by a
friend of mine, now deceased.
It was written when she was in her 80's.

SCRAMBLED EGGS
by...Genevieve
~o~
I open the refrigerator door
and a breeze touches my face.
I remove the carton top and count.
Yes, enough left to make scrambled eggs.

I hesitate as I take them
From their dream of feathers.
I break them open in a bowl.
They look at me unsmilingly.

I take a fork and stir
Until the yolks have mixed with cream
And salt and pepper.
The butter splatters in the pan
And I pour in the mixture.

As it thickens,
I lift it from side to side to center.
It bubbles, rises, changing color.
It trembles!
again, I hesitate -
We, too, are stirred and turned and lifted
From our dreams.

###

WHEN I'M AN OLD WOMAN
by...Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman
I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy
And summer gloves...And satin sandals,
and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings,
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week.
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats
and things in boxes.

But now we must have our clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner
and read the papers.

Maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too
shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old,
And start to wear purple.

###

Click to go to

Poetry ~ Page 2 ~

... or ...