| Slow Dance Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight Or gazed at the sun into the fading night? You better slow down Don't dance so fast Time is short The music won't last Do you run through each day on the fly When you ask "How are you?" do you hear the reply? When the day is done, do you lie in your bed running through your head? You'd better slow down Don't dance so fast Time is short The music won't last Ever told your child, We'll do it tomorrow And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch, Let a good friendship die 'Cause you never had time to call and say "Hi"? You'd better slow down Don't dance so fast Time is short The music won't last When you run so fast to get somewhere You miss half the fun of getting there. When you worry and hurry through your day, It is like an unopened gift.... Thrown away... Life is not a race. Do take it slower Hear the music Before the song is over. |
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| POEMS |
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| IN MEMORY OF ARCHIE & ANTOINETTE FRUNZI |
| My Father Jim Webster and others in our lives who have passed and are terrribly missed |
| Ecru lace and a faded rose, tatted doilies and cameos, cherished letters creased, each page, family photos brown with age. A different era, a time now past, These are the MEMORIES we want to last. |
| I'd rather be a mother Than anyone on Earth-- Bringing up a child or two Of unpretentious birth. I'd rather tuck a little child All safe and sound in bed-- Than twine a chain of diamonds About my foolish head. I'd rather wash a smudgy face With round, bright baby eyes-- Than paint the pageantry of fame, Or walk among the wise. --Meredith Gray |
| Whose Delinquency? We read in the papers, We hear on the air Of killing and stealing And crime everywhere. We sigh and we say, "This generation, Where will it end?" But can we be sure That it's their fault alone? That maybe a part of it Isn't also our own? Kids don't make movies, They don't write the books That paint a gay picture Of gangsters and crooks. They don't make the liquor, They don't run the bars, They don't make the laws And they don't buy cars. They don't make the drugs That addle the brain-- It's all done by older folks Greedy for gain. In far too many cases We find this to be true-- The label "Delinquent" Fits older folks, too! |
| Only a dad with a tired face, Coming home from the daily race, Bringing little of gold or fame, To show how well he has played the game, But glad in his heart that his own rejoice, To see him come home and hear his voice. Only a dad of a brood of four, One of ten million men or more, Plodding along in the daily strife, Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, With never a whimper of pain or hate, For the sake of those who at home do wait! Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, Merely one of the surging crowd, Toiling, striving, from day to day, Facing whatever may come his way, Silent whenever the harsh condemn, And bearing it all for the love of them! Only a dad, but he gives his all, To smooth the way for his children small, Doing with courage stern and grim, The deeds that his father did for him. This is the line that for him I pen: "Only a dad, but the best of men!" --Edgar A. Guest |
| My music is the patter Of happy little feet, Exploring house and attic And scampering down the street. My art is crayon scribbling On table, door and wall In classic style and modern-- I treasure one and all. My literature comprises The books my children know And old tales I remember; From childhood long ago. The kind of culture I acquire No college impart, Yet wisdom only life can teach I cherish in my heart. --Kathrine Kelly Woodley |
| When my man proposed to me He did not do it on bended knee He said I'm a hunter-just want you to know Don't want any hassles if I want to go I envisioned him cleaning his gun by the fire Trusty dog beside him, this is all I desire I thought for awhile and my answer was yes I'll marry this hunter and won't be a pest I must tell you life's different than I would have thought We have no more room for the gear he has bought There's deer heads mounted all over the walls Buck lure,Magazines and a couple grunt calls Camouflage outfits? Can't tell you how many Closet space? I no longer have any Turkey season is the worst I think He once soaked a turkey in my kitchen sink Then there's the practice with the diaphragm calls Yelps, Clucks and Purrs, I've heard it all Doe season, Bear season-even small game I could write all day, there's too many to name I said let's have kids, so I'm not lonely or blue I was blessed with three kids-who go hunting too So I'll cook game and not fuss, I haven't a reason For next week is the start of FISHING SEASON -- Sandi Frunzi |
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