Long ago my Great, Great Grandmother
Grew up in the Lowlands of Ireland,
In a white cottage house in a small village,
With lush green fields, and a country town.
She had a beautiful garden of Roses,
That climbed along the white picket fence,
That caught the eye of all her neighbors,
The aroma of sage and fresh peppermint.
She passed on recipes and old patterns,
Of Her grandparents of long ago.
When they lived in a different time,
Where the pace of life was a little slow.
On Sunday morning the community gathered,
To their lovely St. Patrick Christian Church.
Enjoying their view of fields of green clover,
Their faith in God and their eternal Hope.
South Shore, KY
Arise, brush the strings from your face,
Open the cocoons of your sigh
and soak in the brilliance of another day.
Breathe in the aroma of dew-kissed flowers
that lures bees to morning nectar
as the rising mist meets the sun.
Tune each drum to hear joyous melodies
of song birds in flowering trees
and distant plowing of the fields.
Taste the goodness of sourwood honey
from cutout combs of light array
on homemade break that smells of home.
Walk in the woods where dogwood and redbuds
line edges of leaf-stewn paths
and meditate with GOD.
Nature sings the sweetest songs
With melodies of joy that impart
The sweetest peace to fill my soul—
When I pause to listen with my heart.
I hear the song of the gentle breeze
In harmony with the quaking leaves;
Yellowtail butterflies dance in the meadow,
In concert midst the grassy sheaves.
I hear the song of a happy brook
On its journey to the distant sea.
I listen intently with my eager heart,
While nature sings in harmony.
On a walk through a verdant woodland,
There, cares of the world depart.
My soul sings with nature’s chorus—
When I listen with a joyful heart.
New Boston, Ohio