A Death is Announced


Wisps of frost on aging head,

wrinkled creases, wisdom’s crown;

joints to pain and creaks are wed,

Folds replace a youthful gown.

Even so, her smile is strong

though sorrow lines her blinded eyes;

beauty marks her dying song

as Winter sings her last good-byes.

Underneath That Snowy Hair

Underneath that snowy hair,

the crooked back, the icy stare,

a heart of warmest amber glows,

a value only Jesus knows.

Don’t be Sorry, Sunshine

Don’t be sorry, Sunshine, though glory meets its doom;

don’t grip your resentment though your smile has lost its bloom.

No insects vie for pollen, no bees hang on your words,

but in the sunset of your life, seeds satisfy the birds.

Ruffles and Folds

Antiquated, perhaps –

petticoats and ruffles

don’t equate with modern ways.

Facebook is what she does with dog-eared pages in her spare time.

Internet conjures up tangled silk stockings

rather than monitors and keys

in her mind’s eye.

Her skills are those of a dying breed –

her brain remembers how to keep the fire stoked

to bake her weekly bread,

not who visited her last.

How much pickling salt to add to a quart,

how to blanch her beans to keep their summer’s crunch

trumps where her little bed lies

in these confusing interminable hallways.

But her smile still lights up a room.

Her quaint and dainty ways still

cling to her ruffles.

And her wizened frame

hides true beauty

in its folds…