Generations

A Valentine

5/21/2019

A Valentine

I found an old, old valentine
     Of my mother’s yesterday;
An age-stained, lacy, lovely thing
     That she had put away
Between the covers of a book;
     And as I touched it there,
I saw her young and beautiful,
     The sunlight in her hair,
The love-light in her bright, young eyes
     That years could not destroy;
And through the paper lace there walked
     My father as a boy.
Somewhere along the heavenly lanes
     Today, their eyes ashine,
I think he asks her once again
     To be his valentine.

by Grace Noll Crowell (1877 - 1969)

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Mutual Pride?

5/9/2019

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Mutual Pride?

If you could see your ancestors
     All standing in a row,
Would you be proud of them, or not,
     Or don’t you really know?

Some strange discoveries are made
     In climbing family trees.
And some of them, you know,
     Do not particularly please.

If you could see your ancestors
     All standing in a row,
There might be some of them, perhaps,
     You wouldn’t care to know.

But there’s another question
     Which requires another view.
If you could meet your ancestors,
     Would they be proud of you?

by Author Unknown

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Generation Gap

1/26/2019

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Generation Gap

A lad wished he were older,
     A really grown-up man;
He’d go to work each day -
     Do things his daddy can.

Dad looked so wistfully
     At Grandpa in the shade
And wished he could retire;
     Grandpa sure had it made!

Grandpa was just thinking,
     As he looked for his cane,
How he’d like to travel back
     And be a boy again.

by Delphia Frazier Smith

Delphia Frazier Smith was born on 24 April 1921 near Saddle, Arkansas, United States of America. She became a poet. Delphia Frazier Smith passed on at 92 years of age on 29 March 2014 in West Plains, Missouri, United States of America.

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The Bridge

1/13/2019

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The Bridge

The way I walk
I see my mother walking
My feet secure
and firm upon the ground.

The way I talk
I hear my daughter talking,
And hear my mother’s echo
in the sound.

The way she thought
I find myself now thinking,
The generations linking
In a firm continuum of mind.

The bridge of immortality
I’m walking,
The voice before me
echoing behind.

by Dorothy Hilliard Moffatt

Dorothy Hilda Hilliard Moffatt was born on 8 January 1907 in England. She was married to Orlando Cameron Moffatt. She became a poet. Her books include, “Time for Remembrance: Selected Poems” (October 1994) and “Too Many Apples” (1995). Dorothy Hilda Hilliard Moffatt passed on at 93 years of age on 28 April 2000 in the United States of America.

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The Minuet

1/12/2019

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The Minuet

Grandma told me all about it,
Told me so I could not doubt it,
How she danced, my grandma danced, long ago!
How she held her pretty head,
How her dainty skirts she spread,
How she turned her little toes,
Smiling little human rose!
Grandma’s hair was bright and shining,
Dimpled cheeks, too! ah! how funny!
Bless me, now she wears a cap,
My grandma does, and takes a nap every single day;
Yet she danced the minuet long ago;
Now she sits there rocking, rocking,
Always knitting grandpa’s stocking -
Every girl was taught to knit long ago -
But her figure is so neat,
And her ways so staid and sweet,
I can almost see her now,
Bending to her partner’s bow, long ago.
Grandma says our modern jumping,
Rushing, whirling, dashing, bumping,
Would have shocked the gentle people long ago.
No, they moved with stately grace,
Everything in proper place,
Gliding slowly forward, then
Slowly curtseying back again.
Modern ways are quite alarming, grandma says,
But boys were charming -
Girls and boys I mean, of course - long ago,
Sweetly modest, bravely shy!
What if all of us should try just to feel
Like those who met in the stately minuet, long ago.
With the minuet in fashion,
Who could fly into a passion?
All would wear the calm they wore long ago,
And if in years to come, perchance,
I tell my grandchild of our dance,
I should really like to say,
We did it in some such way, long ago.

by Mary Mapes Dodge

Mary Mapes Dodge was born as Mary Elizabeth Mapes on 26 January 1831 in New York City, New York, United States of America. She was married to William Dodge. She became a writer, a poet, and an editor. Her published works include “Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates” (1865). Mary Mapes Dodge passed on at 74 years of age on 21 August 1905 in Tannersville, New York, United States of America.

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