Straight From The Hart

Ode To Ollie In The Fall For Ollie’s first Fall he was kittenish and bright. Just a three month old baby, a furry ball of delight. He would run through the house, and play hide and seek, We would look everywhere, then out he would peek With a soft teasing meow and those huge owlish eyes. Though we knew where he was, we pretended surprise. Though he was born in a barn, just a common farm cat He thought he was royalty, and he acted like that. He never came when we called him just plain “kitty, kitty” He would sit like a statue, with his tail curled so pretty. He was named for a Colonel, a most important man; He was Oliver North’s namesake (because we were his fans). He almost didn’t make it through his second year’s Fall; We put him in our basement with our dog, big and tall Who didn’t like this new critter eating out of his bowl So he chased him quite fiercely, Ollie’s death was his goal. Round and round in the basement, cat fur flying high Til we came to his rescu

TO MIKAYLA AND LORNA Mikayla, our first born, with color so bright, Long reddish blond hair, your pride and delight; Fair skin, bright blue eyes, so much like your mother; Your little girl pictures look just like each other. Mikayla JoAnne, with my name and my genes; Expressing yourself with such dramatic scenes; Opinionated, creative, intelligent one; Artistic, persistent, you’ll work til it’s done. My ice-skating grandchild, through many a fall You get up and get going again strong and tall. You love Barbies, and horses, and books of all kind; With your beautiful body and quick to learn mind. Little Lorna, our ladybug, with mischievous grin; With Momma’s curly hair, and Daddy’s strong chin; With dark eyes full of twinkles, and laughter so giggly; Never still for a moment, all playful and wiggly. Lorna Delle, you’re your daddy and papa put together; Staying cool, keeping calm, you never get in a dither; Just enjoying your life, no matter where you are staying;

Just Picking Sage Sitting on my porch on an autumn afternoon; Picking from the herbs that had been growing there since June; Listening to the radio, they were playing my favorite tune; But I was doing more than picking sage. Memories of my Grandma over 30 years ago Picking from my sage plants, when I didn’t even know They were growing in my garden, right next to my fence row. I didn’t know a thing about picking sage She brought the sage leaves in and carefully laid them out; She assumed I wouldn’t bother them, never had a doubt That I would know what to do with them, but I threw them out! Didn’t dream she would want the dried-up sage. I never have forgotten the lesson I learned that day; I took a lot of teasing about the sage I threw away; “It’s supposed to be dried out!” is what I heard her say As she went out to pick some more sage. So it wasn’t just the harvesting of the herbs that made me cry; And it wasn’t the chives that grew there that brought a tear to m

MEMORIES OF MEMORIAL DAY It was just an everyday phone call, It was just a simple request; But, oh, the memories it triggered, Memories so precious and blessed. My grandmother’s beautiful flowers, peonies and lilacs and flags, We picked them and handled them gently, laid in baskets and boxes and bags. Through April and May she would tend them, as they grew with bright buds and full blooms We children were not allowed near them, we were tantalized by their perfume. Eagerly, we would wait for that morning that she called Decoration Day; That’s what her flowers were grown for as April came, and turned into May. We usually walked to the cemetery carrying baskets and bags filled with flowers; We looked at all the gravestones with interest, sometimes we would stay there for hours While all of the adults were visiting with friends they had not seen for years. We never really comprehended the meaning of their laughter and hugs, and the tears. I just knew there was somet