When success does come.
Will you be the one sharing it with me?
Growing old with me.
When success does come.

Happy we are now.
More of it we do need.
And it's not all about wealth.
Or placing an interest amongst ourselves.

We seek for tranquility against the falseness of reality.

So when success does come.
Will you be the one sharing in my dreams.

Through prayers, hopes and believing.
The only thing missing is us achieving.

........................................
Don't be sad.
Don't be blue.
Today is extra,
Extra new!
It's as if today
Were made for you!
So don't be sad,
And don't be blue.

Smile kindly
For a while.
There's nothing
Sweeter
Than a smile.
It turns sad faces
Into glad,
And then you do
Not feel so bad.

And a kindly word
When spoken there
Can catch a
Grumbly
Unaware,
And for the
Grandest, greatest
while
We get to share
The softest smile.

The sky is bright -
The robins sing.
Just listen to the
Song they bring.
The breeze is crisp
As morning dew,
And oh so extra,
Extra new!

And on days like this,
You just have to smile,
And spread around
A bit of cheer!
And that cheerful lot
Is still in style,
Especially when shared
'round here!

So, don't be blue,
And don't be sad.
Don't be angry.
Don't be mad.
Share a grand old
Smile today
And chase those
Pesky frowns away.

Copyright © 2013 By Richard D. Remler

for my Aunt Shirley
.....……………………………………….

Fervis F. Ferville
Of South Street, North West
Could count, count, count, count
With incredible zest!

He was a very good counter,
And he would not hesitate!
For he would get up real early,
And he would stay up real late

Counting everything that could
Be owned by a Mouse,
As long as it could fit
In a little Mouse House.

And with his Shadow as Witness,
He would begin every day
Counting each little grain
Of his Bucklewheat Hay.

He would sound out each number.
That’s just what he’d do!
And he would always begin
All of his counting with “Two.”

He would count every minute
On the clock on his wall.
He then counted the hours,
The Seconds, and all

Of the in-between moments
That we never admit
Have a smidgen of good
Honest counting in it.

He then climbed very carefully
On his ABC blocks,
And counted each button
Safely tucked in its box,

Which came right to twenty-one,
All quite safe and sound.
The Greatest Button Collection
That a Mouse ever found.

Then he counted his fingers,
And he counted his toes,
His counting-type eyes,
And his counting-type nose.

He counted his ears,
And he counted his knees
And he smiled with pride,
For Fervis was pleased.

He had counted two eyes,
And one counting-type nose.
He had counted two knees,
And two stringy elbows.

He had counted two ears
That hung over his head.
And he counted the stripes
On his little Mouse bed.

He had counted each whisker,
And every brow of his eye.
And then he turned his attention
To his french fry supply.

There were twenty-two long ones,
And thirty-four short ones,
Ten busted-up ones
And eighteen athwart ones.

And there were his books,
Lots of books on a shelf
That he hid,
For he wanted them
All to himself.

With his vast and unique
Set of Counting-Mouse Skills,
And the speed and agility
Of trained Whippoorwills

He counted and counted,
And counted them all,
Every book he could find,
Every book that he saw.

All the big ones
And small ones,
The fat
And the tall ones,

Every green one
And blue one
Each old and
Each new one.

He counted his Nickets,
He counted his Nukks,
He counted every one
Of his Poppletoff Pucks.

He counted his ear lobes,
Then counted his keys,
And recounted every one
Of his ones, twos and threes.

He counted with such
A fine skill and finesse
That he proudly turned his attention
To Checkers and Chess

And he counted each Rook,
Every Bishop and Queen,
Every foul little Knight
That tormented his King.

Every Pawn en Passant,
Every possible move,
Oh, he counted them all
If only to prove

That he, as a Mouse,
Could indeed hold his own
When it came to a fine
Game of Chess in his home.

The very next thing
He would count were his socks.
He took great care of them.
So he unlocked all the locks

On his Secret Sock-Drawer,
And he counted each Two.
Then he seemed rather puzzled
When he was finally through.

For yesterday’s count
Came to Thirty-Eight pair.
Which meant that one pair was missing!
Yes, Missing! But where?

Now, this called for a re-count,
Something a Counting-Type Mouse
Does all of the time
In his little Mouse House.

So, Fervis F. Ferville,
In his perfect Mouse timing,
Counted and re-counted
Without even rhyming!

The Two and the Four
And the Six and the Eight!
He counted each sock
Until it seemed rather late.

Then he sighed as he sat
In his little Mouse chair.
And he took a deep breath
With a haunt of despair.

And he thought:
“Counting-Type Mouses
Never lose track of socks.
They never forget their neckties
Or popcicle blocks.

They do not misplace their Hourglass,
Or lose track of the time.
And Counting-Type Mouses
Are on time
All the time! ”

He fuddled and fudged,
And scratched at his ear,
Took a deep breath
Just to let his mind clear.

And he spied at his Shadow,
Who had nothing to say,
Who simply shrugged long
In its shadowy way.

So, he counted again,
Very slowly this time,
Sounding each number out,
Every succinct little rhyme.

Every four, every two,
Every ten, every eight.
Every twelve, and each twenty,
Until it was later than late.

“This simply does not make sense, ”
He mumbled to himself.
“Where could they be?
I’ve looked on every shelf.”

He searched through his house,
Very high, then down low,
Every place they could hide,
Every place they could go.

He looked deep in his cupboards,
And inside every jar.
He searched as close as he could,
And then he searched far.

He looked in his freezer,
And then in his hat,
On nights such as this
Mice will do things like that.

He hunted deep in his closet,
And then in every shoe
That he kept always ready
Underneath his canoe.

He searched up the small staircase,
And then down through the vent.
He hunted inside his chimney,
And above the bell tent.

He looked behind every picture
That hung on his wall.
And then he decided
To check behind his baseball.

He searched through his Bob-Bobbers,
And inside his fly sheet.
And, just to be safe,
He looked down at his feet.

And his eyes peered so narrow
He bit down on his lip,
And he twizzled and twozzled
Every single toe tip.

There were his socks,
Safely there, rightly put
As well as can be
On each little Mouse foot.

He hadn’t lost them at all,
And they hadn’t lost him.
They’d been there all the time
Very proper and prim.

And Fervis F. Ferville
Jumped up with a snap,
He sang out a “Woohoo, ”
And he let his toes tap.

He danced with a jig
And a biggillowigg,
Hopping about
With his toes hanging out.

He looked at the clock
That hung high on his wall,
And he stretched out, refreshed,
Like a porcupine ball.

And Fervis F. Ferville  adjusted his tie.
And breathed deep the evening air.
"Why-ever have I been so distraught?
This simply does not seem fair."

I have every toe, every ear, every sock.
I have every number that ticks on my clock.
I have every whoo that has ever said hey.
It is a grand and new, wonderful day.

And wonderful days, as the story is said-
Are filled with those numbers that dance off the head,
And tap tap tap wonders of yellow and blue,
Wonders that shimmer much newer than new.

And he smiled so warmly the evening shined,
As though Fervis had one more adventure in mind.
He spied his fine Shadow, on the dash of a whim,
And his top secret Shadow spied right back at him,

And then Fervis F. Ferville so calmly called out,
"I've counted one hundred eleventy-two!
And that's a very fine count, an impressive amount.
I am certain I've counted much higher than you.

But his Shadow just leaned against the far wall,
Unwilling to join in the foray.
Shadows never re-count a good count,
Not when there's still time for Shadows to play.

And Fervis agreed.
For a fine Mouse was he,
Oh, there was so much more
To counting young Fervis could see.
And he smiled a wide smile, fine as any wise Mouse,
And returned to the joys of his little Mouse House.


Copyright © 2010 By Richard D. Remler

.....……………………………………….
'I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see. '
-John Burroughs
……………………………………………