We thank thee Lord for thy commandments,
The lamps that light the narrow way,
Our access to thy great atonement,

God made two great lights;
The greater light
To rule the day,
And the lesser light

The other morning I dozed off. I awoke with a 4-line poem I’d composed in my sleep:

Additional verses for the hymn

(Other additional verses on page 29)

Ye did not choose me,
You I have chosen;
I have ordained you

Daughter’s son,
4 a.m.,
four days old

Kevin, and his golden-haired boys,
Who are normally so full of noise,
Sit so quietly with him now,

I’m happy that I married you,
With all I am content;
It matters not what else I do,

Well, the evening falls and the kids all come,
They’re at the door with their daughters and sons,
The house fills up and the fiddles come out

When I look at him, I can’t see me,
He’s much too close to eternity;
His hairs are white, and his head is bald,
He’s wrinkled, and his manner is mild.

He’s just two-years old,
And one-quarter me;
A pleasure to hold,

Josiah Nathan, child of charms,
Lying calmly in my arms;
Snuggled here so quietly,

Thirty-four years a mother;
Thirty-four call her mom;
It’s doubtful there’s another,

Insecure boy
Marries less-than-capable girl,
The headline might have read,

First verse—all sing together, (as written page 294 of hymnbook)

There is beauty all around When there’s love at home;
There is joy in every sound When there’s love at home.

A prism hung in our window one morn
Casting rainbows all around the room;
Rainbows and dirt did our floor adorn,

The only things equal to well-worded rhyme
Are wordlessness, silence, and well-practiced mime.
Adding some adjectives to everyday speech
Will never put Shakespeare within talent’s reach.

Vital or vile?
Necessary or nice?
Worthless or worthwhile?

Additional verses to the Primary song

Spencer was a prophet, kept his journal well,
Asked us to do likewise, who could ever tell,
When our meager writings might affect all men,

Additional verses for the hymn

(More additional verses on page 44)

If ye would love me

An additional verse to the hymn

Because I have been given gifts then I will strive,
To find and share my gift each day that I’m alive,
If I neglect to share my gift,

Teacher’s gone!—The word goes out.
Today we’ll play, tease and shout.
She’ll not know which is which,

There once was a man from Pawtucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan

Grandma, aunt, helper, friend–
Sister, mother without end
Margaret “Peggy” Olive Kerns

If I agreed with her, every whit,
I’d still be far the worse for it.
I’d hear the all of every matter
And listen to her constant chatter

How can they reach
Those whom they teach
If they don’t practice
What they preach?

I love to hear the rustle
Of the wind through autumn leaves,
And listen to the silence
Of the mountains through the haze.

My sister?
You’re kidding!
Sure, I like her,
But I don’t remember sharing toys.

Radiant hues of morn
Gently caress the leaves
A tiny girl is born
God’s gift in love to me.

The sun shines on me
When I think of you,
My heart feels free
When your smile comes through,

You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, Marjorie
You’re my favorite thought and sight to see, Marjorie
I’m lonesome and blue

To be sung to the tune of
“God of Our Fathers, Known of Old,” Hymns #76 and 77.
The chorus is by Rudyard Kipling.

The blessings of life
Are many and varied,
But chief above all
Is the fact that I’m married—
To Margie.

Like the soft blowing breeze on the meadow,
As dusk settles over the glen;
The darkness is pierced by beams mellow,
As stars guide and comfort all men.

There is a joy, above the rest,
More precious than they all;

Brightest is the night which is made day,
When in the dark and drear I repose,
Unthinking yet thinking, as I lay,

My Father trusts me.

He has given me
one of His most cherished possessions
to have forever.

We mortals moan of un-given powers
And waste our talents on Babel towers
Yet minds and strength we each possess

A blinding revelation of thought
Struck me,
Almost like one not accustomed to thinking;
For at infrequent times

Half light is neither night nor day
But lies between the dusk and dark;
Ideas half-sold, not all the way,

Why is it one can’t find words
for those things which mean the most?
The youngster who has just had his child-world shaken
by a new and wonderful discovery,

I got disgusted looking at commercial birthday cards, and decided I could probably say what I wanted better by making my own verse.

Cover of “In a Grove of Aspens”

Cover of “Poems”