Her brush is but a shovel,
Her canvas a patch of dirt,
Her paints consist of the flowers and ferns that God has placed upon this Earth.
Her artwork is ever changing as the seasons come and go,
Her art is always beautiful even when sprinkled with snow
Her daughter is a musician,
her son has a talent for sketch,
Her husband is a jack of all trades and has passed on all of his gifts.
But, she does not realize her talent to create beauty every day,
Her garden is a masterpiece that is always on display.
My mother is an artist
My mother is my friend
My mother is a Survivor,
And I cherish her to no end.
I posted that on Facebook today and it sounds so simple but is it? Your best what?
You are worth your best smile, best attitude, best compassion, best effort, best love, best care, best health, best commitment, best fight, best strength, best mood, best forgiveness, best investment; your best you 🖤
Just past dusk
Against a majestic wood
A little girl
Just about five
Screams in delight
At the moonlit night
Great Uncle and Dad
The little girl
Trying to catch night-bugs in vain
Beagle puppies barking
And chasing shoestrings
As she rolls down a steep hill
A starry eyed girl
Mom and Grandma in the kitchen
Little brother by Daddy’s hand
The little girl laying in the grass
Falls in love with the stars.
This poem was wrote about my Great Uncle Ballard’s Beamer place on Beamer’s Knob. This is dedicated to my Great Uncle Ballard and my Grandmother Higgins who have both passed on to the Summerlands.
I sleep under blankets from boyfriends past
One is white like clouds
The other blue like the ocean
I don’t hang onto them for sentiment
I would gladly trade them…
For a space heater
I like to be warm when I sleep