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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - My Momma Drops By With a Poem

Here's a treat for you. My mom, the rhyming maniac, has managed to write a poem using the words Superman underwear and squat. And it even has a higher purpose than entertainment. sigh. Well. I did write that incredible Die, Cricket, Die poem a few months ago. (She will not be amused that I tied the two poems together - but it's my blog.)


Mom's Poem (Catchy Title Huh?)


T’was the week before Christmas,
And wouldn’t you know,
I was not nearly ready,
Nor had we had snow.

The stockings we’d found
In the basement, it’s true.
We’d shopped and had purchased
Some gifts (far too few).

The dinner plans, finally,
Were now taking shape.
(work schedules, conflicts, the dishes we’d make).

I longed for the days of the
Fisher-Price stuff, when
Delighting the children
Was never too tough.

A squeaky toy here,
A baby doll there,
Some books, new pjs,
Superman underwear.

Today it’s electronics
About which I know squat,
(except for a few things
my children have taught.)

But in all this confusion
We treasure so dear,
There’s really but one reason
For this time of year.

We stop in the night
To ponder the star,
That light that drew wise men
Who came from afar.

It beckons us still
To consider this birth.
This wondrous, unfathomed gift
To the earth.

The Redeemer who came
In the humblest of ways,
Wrapped, in the manger –
The Ancient of Days.

To purchase His treasure
From the bondage of sin.
He came for your heart.
Won’t you please let Him in?

Phyllis A. Griffith

1 comment:

Janet Rubin said...

Aw... thanks mom! I still love rhyming poetry.