Stopping by woods on a snowy evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though; 

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep. 

Robert Frost

Happy New Year

New Year’s Reflections

Looking back on the months gone by,
 As a new year starts and an old one ends,
 We contemplate what brought us joy,
 And we think of our loved ones and our friends.

Recalling all the happy times,
 Remembering how they enriched our lives,
 We reflect upon who really counts,
 As the fresh and bright new year arrives.

And when I ponder those who do,
 I immediately think of you.

Thanks for being one of the reasons I'll have a Happy New Year!

By Joanna Fuchs

Unfolding the rosebud

By Helen Steiner Rice

It is only a tiny rosebud,

A flower of God's design;

But I cannot unfold the petals

With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers

Is not known to such as I.

God opens this flower so sweetly,

In my hands it will fade and die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,

This flower of God's design,

Then how can I think I have wisdom

To unfold this life of mine?

So I'll trust in Him for His leading

Each moment of every day.

I will look to him for His guidance

Each step of the pilgrim way.

The pathway that lies before me,

Only my Heavenly Father knows.

I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,

Just as He unfolds the rose.

My dad

When I was just a tiny kid, 

Do you remember when, 

The time you kissed my bruises, 

Or cleaned by soiled chin? 

You scrambled for the balls I hit, 

(Short-winded more than not,) 

Yet, every time we'd play a game, 

You praised the "outs" I caught. 

It seems like only yesterday, 

You wiped away my tears, 

And late at night I called your name, 

To chase away my fears. 

Though time has changed your handsome grip, 

Your hair is snowy white, 

You gait's a little slower now, 

Thick glasses help your sight. 

Oh, do I thirst for years gone by, 

To be that growing lad, 

Re-living all of the memories, 

Of growing with my dad. 

Author Unknown

Fathers Day

Over the years

As we grow old, 

We remember our father

So brave and bold. 

In the garden, 

Leaning on the plow, 

He would listen to me; 

I see him now. 

He would give advice

And understand; 

He was always there

To lend a hand. 

God made fathers

Strong and firm, 

For he knew our lives

Would have great concerns. 

So he gave us fathers

To teach us to pray, 

And guide our lives, 

And show us the way. 

So on his day

Let's take the time

To say "Thanks, dad. 

I'm glad you're mine." 

Mary Frances Bogle

What makes a dad

God took the strength of a mountain, 

The majesty of a tree, 

The warmth of a summer sun, 

The calm of a quiet sea, 

The generous soul of nature, 

The comforting arm of night, 

The wisdom of the ages, 

The power of the eagle's flight, 

The joy of a morning in spring, 

The faith of a mustard seed, 

The patience of eternity, 

The depth of a family need, 

Then God combined these qualities, 

When there was nothing more to add, 

He knew His masterpiece was complete, 

And so, He called it ... Dad

Author Unknown

Daffodils

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

The squirrel

Whisky, frisky,
Hippity hop;
Up he goes
To the tree top!

Whirly, twirly,
Round and round,
Down he scampers
To the ground.

Furly, curly
What a tail!
Tall as a feather
Broad as a sail!

Where's his supper?
In the shell,
Snappity, crackity,
Out it fell.

Stopping by

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know. 

His house is in the village, though; 

He will not see me stopping here 

To watch his woods fill up with snow. 

My little horse must think it queer 

To stop without a farmhouse near 

Between the woods and frozen lake 

The darkest evening of the year. 

He gives his harness bells a shake 

To ask if there is some mistake. 

The only other sound's the sweep 

Of easy wind and downy flake. 

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost 

Snow days

"FALLING SNOW"

See the pretty snowflakes,
Falling from the sky;
On the wall and housetops,
Soft and thick they lie.

On the window ledges,
On the branches bare;
Now how fast they gather,
Filling all the air.

Look into the garden,
Where the grass was green;
Covered by the snowflakes,
Not a blade is seen.

Now the bare black bushes,
All look soft and white,
Every twig is laden,
What a pretty sight!

                         Author: Caitlyn Turner

Wear your poppy with pride

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flander's fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, tho poppies grow

In Flander's fields.

Liet. -Col. John McCrae

God's Rosebud

A new minister was walking with an older, more seasoned minister in the garden one day.


Feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was asking the older preacher for some advice.


The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to  open it without tearing off any of the petals.



The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and ministry.



But, because of his great respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact. It wasn't long before he realized how impossible this was to do.



Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud, without tearing it, the older preacher  began to recite the following poem...



It is only a tiny rosebud,

A flower of God's design;

But I cannot unfold the petals

With these clumsy hands of mine.



The secret of unfolding flowers

Is not known to such as I.

GOD opens this flower so easily,

But in my hands they die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,

This flower of God's design,

Then how can I have the wisdom

To unfold this life of mine?



So, I'll trust in God for leading

Each moment of my day.
I will look to God for guidance

In each step along the way.



The path that lies before me,
Only my Lord and Savior knows.

I'll trust God to unfold the moments,

Just as He unfolds the rose.



If you enjoyed being reminded to "let go and let God" unfold your life... please consider sharing this poem with a friend.

The Rose

Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you it's only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the winter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.

Bette Midler

Pennies from Heaven

 

I found a penny today

Just lying on the ground,

But it's not just any penny

This little coin I've found.

Found pennies come from heaven,

That's what I've been told,

By Angels watching over us

From their clouds of gold.

When an Angel thinks of you

They toss a penny down,

Sometimes just to cheer you up

To make a smile from your frown.

     So don't pass by that penny

When you're feeling blue,

It may be a penny from heaven

That an Angel's tossed to you.

"In God We Trust" is not a phrase

Just printed on a penny,

It's something to remember

When your troubles seem like many.

So when you're down and it seems

Your life has a blue tint,

That penny on a sidewalk 

May be truly "heaven-cent."

A Stranger Passed By

I ran into a stranger as he passed by.
"Oh, excuse me please" was my reply.

He said, "Please, excuse me too,
Wasn't even watching for you."

We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.

But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.

Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My daughter stood beside me very still.

When I turned, I nearly knocked her down.
"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.

She walked away, her little heart broken
at how harshly I had spoken.

While I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,

"While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the children you love, you seem to abuse.

Look on the kitchen floor,
You'll find some flowers there by the door.

Those are the flowers she brought for you.
She picked them herself, pink, yellow and blue. 

She stood quietly not to spoil the surprise,And you never saw the tears in her eyes.

"By this time, I felt very small,
and now my tears began to fall.

I quietly went and knelt by her bed;
"Wake up, little girl, wake up," I said.

"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
She smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree.

I picked 'em, because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like'em, especially the blue.

I said, "Daughter, I'm sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn't have yelled at you that way."

She said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you anyway."

I said, "Daughter, I love you too,
And I do like the flowers, especially the blue."

Author Unknown

An Old Woman's Poem

AN OLD LADY'S POEM

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply""
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe....
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill....
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten...with a father ! and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty--my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play around my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
 I'm now an old woman....and nature is cruel;
Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years....all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
 ...Not a crabby old woman; look closer...see ME!!

Auld Lang Syne

Auld Lang Syne was partially written by Robert Burns in the 1700's, it was first published in 1796 after Burns' death. Early variations of the song were sung prior to 1700 and inspired Burns to produce the modern rendition. An old Scotch tune, 'Auld Lang Syne' literally means 'old long ago,' or simply, 'the good old days.'

Here are the lyrics: however, many people seem to remember only the first verse.

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 

and never brought to mind? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 

and days of auld lang syne? 

For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 

and days of auld lang syne? 

And here's a hand, my trusty friend 

And gie's a hand o' thine 

We'll tak'A cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne.

Falling Snow

Falling Snow

See the pretty snowflakes

Falling from the sky

On the wall and housetops

Soft and thick they lie.

On the window ledges

On the branches bare

Now how fast they gather

Filling all the air.

Look into the garden

Where the grass was green

Covered by the snowflakes

Not a blade is seen.

Now the bare black bushes

All look soft and white

Every twig is laden

What a pretty sight.

Author: Caitlyn Turner

Dear Santa

Dear Santa, here's my Christmas list.

I hope you'll bring it all.

I've only asked for gifts my parents

can't find at the mall.

I'd like to have a UFO,

with aliens inside,

and maybe a Tyrannosaurus Rex

that I could ride.

A ninety-nine foot robot

is a present I could use.

I'll also need a time machine,

and rocket-powered shoes.

Please bring a gentle genie

who will grant my every wish,

and don't forget a wizard's wand,

and, yes, a talking fish.

Of course, I'll need a unicorn,

and won't you please provide

a dragon, and a castle

in the English countryside.

Of course, the weight of all these things

might cause your sleigh to crash.

If that's the case, dear Santa,

please feel free to just bring cash.

--Kenn Nesbitt

The Tone of Voice

It's not so much what you say
As the manner in which you say it;
It's not so much the language you use
As the tone in which you convey it;

"Come here!" I sharply said,

And the child cowered and wept.

"Come here," I said -

He looked and smiled

And straight to my lap he crept.

Words may be mild and fair

And the tone may pierce like a dart;

Words may be soft as the summer air

But the tone may break my heart;

For words come from the mind

Grow by study and art -

But tone leaps from the inner self

Revealing the state of the heart.

Whether you know it or not,

Whether you mean or care,

Gentleness, kindness, love, and hate,

Envy, anger, are there.

Then, would you quarrels avoid

And peace and love rejoice?

Keep anger not only out of your words -

Keep it out of your voice.

Author unknown