Mr. McGregor
I feel like Mr. McGregor today.
I chased a little bunny away
for nibbling my flowers
and munching on leaves.
Whatever would Beatrice Potter say?
My Poem to Merrill
They wanted me to sing to you,
and I told them all our guests would leave.
Then write a poem they said.
Here is my poem to Merrill.
What made me love you?
Maybe it was your gentle eyes and shy smile
that made me love you.
Maybe...
Or maybe it's because you wash dishes and iron shirts,
and let other people's grandchildren
eat happy meals in your clean car.
Maybe I love you for your mind.
No one ever quoted the third act of Hamlet to me before.
You know every answer in every category on Jeopardy.
You know what Wally had for breakfast
in the 14th episode of Leave It to Beaver,
but you still picked me for your partner in Trivial Pursuit.
Maybe it's because you love jazz
and play the guitar and write songs for me.
You know all the classical composers,
and even say their names correctly,
but you sing old Roberta Flack songs for me.
Maybe it's because you always remember
important things,
like where I left my car keys
and what row my car is parked in at the super center.
You didn't laugh or ask
how I locked my keys in the truck of the car.
You took me to get my hair cut
when I was afraid to drive in a storm.
You can make me laugh when computers don't work,
the phone won't stop ringing,
and someone runs into the back of my new car.
I think I love you for all these things,
but most of all...
You're someone who loves the Lord
more than anyone I've ever known,
and makes me want to love Him more too...
and when you speak,
gentle words tumble out
and open a window to your soul.
And me?
I shall be listening evermore.
The First Snow
The first snow will come tonight.
The weatherman has spoken.
There's dry wood in,
a blazing fire,
and peaceful quiet unbroken.
How different now
to greet the snow
with welcome calm
and quiet repose.
These old walls
must think it strange
to hear no talk
of coming snows
or probability of change
or whether schools will really close.
Tomorrow I will wake and rise
slowly with my coffee cup
and look into the winter skies
remembering children all grown-up.
I'll stoke the fire and warm my toes,
smiling as I reminisce
of other days and other snows,
and miss, and miss, and miss...
