This poem was written in 2007. May have to revise it to Coldest April in + 11 more years…
“Coldest April in 114 years”
In an inexplicable fit of irresponsibility
April flew out for a Carribean cruise last Wednesday.
She cut a deal for 11 days, 10 nights.
March had promised to do her a favor
and watch the spring weather for her.
But then he traded 4 days and three nights
from January to escape to Disney World.
And that’s how it is—
January put Spring to bed with his cold breath:
nipped and frosted each exuberant bud,
flower and newly out-flung green leaf;
Left wilted puddles of vegetation
across the country expanse.
When Spring awoke, she started to cry.
Inconsolable is she.
March tries to calm her down
with his erratic winds, but she’ll have
nothing to do with him.
May stopped by briefly to warm
things up a bit, but departed quickly.
Summer sent an angry e-mail to Mother
about the coming lack of fruit
for her famous jams and jellies.
Autumn wrote a P.S. about the quantity
of grapes for wine.
April is locked in her room upon
her return and won’t talk to anyone.
Mother Nature is on the line
with God the Father about what can be done
to minimize the damage April’s wrought.
c.2007 Darlene Moore Berg
In honor of National Doctors Day
Human handsDry, rough, skin crackedFrom frequent washing.Gentle hands in touchFirm hands with control These hands know the differenceBetween caring and indifferenceBetween pokes and prodsAnd a kind concern.Warm hands on squirmy belliesHands to caress the tears, the fearsHumble hands with finite knowledge Hands reaching up to brushThe Hand of the Infinite—The Great Physician.Hands seeking wisdomTo help, to healHands lifted up in mute appealHands of hope, of faithHuman hands.
flying in tandem
Lives intertwined together
Going the long haul