Posted 6/4/2020 11:29 AM (GMT -6)
Again, instead of this being the 8th listing of sentences from literature, this is actually the 2nd set of poems.
It is in connection with PA Grandma, Joyce, who use to post on this Depression forum, and for awhile did a column of jokes and words of wisdom. Her last column was 5/1/2018 before she passed away not long after that.
For about a week, I wrote her column for her, which consisted largely of sayings. I came across some items recently and thought I would pass them along, which brings Joyce back to mind.
“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”
― Robert Frost
The angels are stopping above your bed;
They weary of trooping with the whispering dead.
God’s laughing in heaven to see you so good,
The Sailing Seven are gay with his mood.
I sigh that kiss you for I must own
That I shall miss you when you have grown.
( --William Butler Yeats)
“Poetry being imaginative, fresh and honest, is the very language of children, and many of their incidental remarks are simply love poems. Once, when I was in the living room with a guest, my little girl sat real close to me and said, `Will you look at me, too, some of the times, and smile and speak to me?’ This is one version of a child’s eternal love poem to the world.”
Rachel Peden in Speak to the Earth. Knoph; Readers Digest, July 1983.
“Little Boy Blue”
by Eugene Field
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our
Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
And don’t you make any noise!”
So toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of his pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue–
Oh! The years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place–
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.