Growing in the side-yard of our house in Villa Park,
were mint leaves basking in the summer sun--
Sitting in the kitchen with windows opened wide,
the ruffled curtains fluttering in the warm breeze--
I could taste the scented air as I drank my lemonade,
poured from my grandmother Mary's heavy glass pitcher,
artfully embossed with floral etchings.


A porcelain cookie jar shaped like a happy homemaker,
sat quaintly in the corner of our green kitchen counter--
The cotton tablecloth swirled with bright colored birds,
partially shaded by the lowering of the evening sun.
Kneeling at the window I saw a bounty of honeysuckles,
which enhanced the sweetness of summer's breath.


Mom would dish out bowls of butter-almond ice cream,
a delicious treat brought earlier by her cousin Jean--
And often we'd play Scrabble long into the night,
(Mom was the brightest of us all, a winner in every way);
then we'd head outside toward the backyard pool
To watch lightning bugs flitting in delight around
our giant maple tree, catching a few as they floated past us.


Later, from my room, I'd hear the humming of the pool's filter,
and Daddy's reassuring voice practically in rhythm with the sound--
My younger siblings would grab hold of me as we chased our
playful pup down the stairs and onto the front porch--
There, we sat in the twilight watching Dad survey the moon,
with Mom commenting on the twinkling stars above--
And we knew, wholeheartedly, that love surrounded us,
before bedtime arrived and engulfed us in peaceful sleep.

Mounted high upon his mahogany desk,
those papers lined with embellished words;
Disguised with false echoes of majesty,
which tell the tales of fire and swords.

Forgetting all but one parable designed,
to open up a bleeding heart's wounds;
His inspired thoughts would float away,
in dubious flights of sights and sounds.

While caressing the pages so boldly grasped,
reminding him that words could hold the key;
To rescue the world and solve its weariness,
if only his heart would embrace validity.

Now struggling through these manuscripts,
with haunting visions of malice and grief;
His life torn apart from the wanton spirits,
while flowing cautiously toward a sense of relief.

Since living is heaven's gift to us all,
not just a plaything to scorn and toss;
We must carry the torch to higher ground,
despite our sacrifice and inevitable loss.

Barren branches reach toward the steel-gray sky,
the air whistles through them as they sway;
Touching each other with a crackling sound,
as moaning calls of winter birds obey.

With each move their tender limbs try,
to hold themselves up with honor;
Yet as gusts snap twigs to solid ground,
this scene appears to us in horror.

Why now is Nature so bold and brave,
while January's resting and nesting starts ?
Its darkness looms with grave concerns,
for every lonesome and solitary heart.

And the whirling frost will paint its pictures,
along the windowsills each night;
The once fiery hearth seems weary and weak,
as the numbing cold begins to bite.

It was quite different when we lived down South,
which seems like years ago;
But now we stumble over icy hills,
and plow through fields of snow.

While the holidays pass with mirth and cheer,
our souls become unsettled;
Knowing that God has future plans,
that would surely test our mettle.

The strong survive the wicked winds,
the remaining folks just fade away;
Yet when we hold each others' hands,
our misery blows far astray.

Remember the elders on the farm,
telling stories of a reckless season;
Their wit and wisdom brightened our world,
for them--life's challenges had their reasons.

Huddled together in woolen shawls,
with my loving family close at hand;
I pray to the Lord that we all survive,
this bleak and brittle land.

---of love, and fireside romance,
speak to me of all the things we share,
of passing time's urgency to care;
speak to me of sighs, of kisses, and touches
sweet.

Speak to me of forever love, of the way
we go forward from year to year--
And of all the laughs and tears
shed, as our hearts grow in harmony.

Speak to me of the yesterdays,
and all that has led us here--
to eternal bliss--
All we needed was one kiss,
and somehow the angels sang
with delight---that night,
you spoke of our everlasting bond.

Speak to me---how fortunate are we !
precious gifts have set our hearts with glee.
We've carved our initials into that maple tree--
to last for all eternity--never forget to speak to me.

When the stars grow cold and fade away,
the earth becomes a haven;
For the sunbursts of a winter sky,
which warm us from our burdens.

Despite the sweetness of holiday cheer,
the only things we've left to see;
Are the snowy mountain tops ahead,
resplendent in their alabaster sea.

But with the rising of the morning sun,
its glowing face upon us all;
We huddle together and watch the gleam,
as it beckons us through windswept squalls.

So if the day can be revived,
with such brightness shining near;
The frosty stars will take a hint,
soon recovering on a night so clear.

And seeing the sparkle over the hills,
we pray for cherished evenings;
Of love and light within our sight,
with holy songs from angels' healing.

I can hear it in my heart,
a soulless sound predicting sadness--
Yet with all the worldly treasures,
surrounding me in gladness.

Perhaps the whistling will stop,
my mind and ears beseech thee--
To open up your raging heart,
to a place where I can simply BE.

I never heard this line before,
"forever we will fly away"--
But your voice haunts my spirit,
telling me I shouldn't stay.

The last song, and the best song,
should quench the hunger of goodbyes--
Although we once were intertwined,
the chants are carried on our sighs.

The season is merry and bright,
we watch on a silent night;
As children wait for treasures,
they'll cherish heartily forever.

As Santa rides his sleigh,
from a million miles away,
He's happy to be the one,
to deliver such Christmas fun.

While snow falls like confetti,
parents everywhere are ready;
For children's early rising,
with their laughter NOT surprising.

Hot cocoa made by mother,
sharing goodies like no other;
And lying underneath the tree,
Santa's gifts bring so much glee.

Lost forever in a trance,
of love that seems to dance;
The spirit of Christ is here,
we celebrate from year to year !