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Poet's Platform Column | 15 June 06

by Janet Nesler | The Scioto Voice | Wheelersburg, Ohio


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Lets take a little walk my son,
And see the beauty of the trees,
We’ll go down to the Ohio River,
And watch it’s waters flow so free.

Our hearts are like a water fountain,
Bubbling up inside our busy lives,
Until it gets full of rubbish.
And the water fountain slowly dries

But we must keep our fountain flowing
With joy that comes from up above,
Our Heavenly Father sees our struggle,
And He forgives us with His love.

On Father’s Day I’d always remember;
Of times that Dad and I spent together,
Talking about life and my Father’s advice,
Sitting on the banks of the Ohio River.

Nancy Mineer
South Shore, KY



The worn Bible placed on the mantle,
With Father’s glasses laying beside,
The smell of the leather bound cover
Brings joy and often tears to our eyes.

Dad found the treasures of the Bible,
And marked them so we could all read
The road map from Earth to Heaven,
As we journey in life’s rugged seas.

A little note written inside the pages
To his children and many friends,
That he had no money to leave us,
But the hidden treasures were found within.

Dad left us the most wonderful treasure,
In its pages we discover the Master Plan,
He gave us a book of instructions,
The Holy Bible, written under God’s command.

Nancy Mineer
South Shore, KY


My Dad

He was short in stature
But he loomed large to me
I always look up to him,
Even tho I grew taller than he.

His schooling was limited,’
Fifth grade--so he said.
Common sense served him well;
He trusted his heart--and his head.

A man of integrity and steadfast faith,
His word, always his bond.
Each day greeted with a spirit of hope
For a brighter tomorrow-- and beyond.

He took us to church on Sunday
Where he sang and directed the choir.
He taught us to know right from wrong
With examples for life that inspire.

An accident at a steel mill job
Took fingers from one of his hands.
Calluses worn on a stubby palm
Were emblems of toil from daily demands.

He lost an eye in his early years
A tragedy, both harsh and severe
His vision for life was un-impaired
He saw duty with insight-not fear.

Lazy was not a trait he knew
his work commenced early each day
With nine young’uns to clothe and feed
There was precious little time for play.

He chose me to share his name
 An honor I’ll always treasure
“Am I worthy?”, I’ve wondered, “Why me?”
It’s a badge I wear with pleasure

Charles Clevenger
New Boston

From “Come Walk With Me”





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