A Path to Somewhere
Beyond someplace there is a field,
A small boy liked to play.
With bugs to find, and trees to climb,
The boy would stay all day.
In time, a narrow path emerged,
It went from here to there.
With bumps and curves along the way,
And ending up somewhere.
Along the path there was a bush,
That grew in marshy ground.
Its branches heavy, laden down,
With berries big and round.
He paced with curiosity,
Was heedful of its root.
Then popped a berry in his mouth,
To taste the juicy fruit.
And oh that flavour made him smile,
That teeny tiny taste.
The sweetness in the juicy pulp,
Must not be lost in haste.
He laughed at all the berry juice,
That stained his fingertips.
Beneath his nails, and on his teeth,
Around his mouth and lips.
He thought of things that brought delight,
Like spotting silver dimes.
There’s skimming rocks and soggy socks,
His berry picking times.
He made a promise to himself,
To nurture and protect,
This berry bush on marshy mounds,
Which taught him to reflect.
Below the bush there lay some twigs,
The wind had taken down.
He wove them in a little round,
And wore it like a crown.
He wandered often through the path,
To taste the berries, sweet.
He’d cup his hands and fill them up,
Then savour as a treat.
The years go by. He’s older now,
He thought he knew his way.
So smart that he would not get lost,
And never go astray.
The widening path developed ruts,
Each time that he passed through.
He filled his pails right to the brim,
Brushed off the bugs and view.
The berries grew back just the same,
But carelessly were picked.
The boy would hardly taste them now,
His fingers barely licked.
He snatched and grabbed with buckets full,
He’d leave the branches bare.
He never thought about a day,
The bush would not be there.
He always had somewhere to go,
The beaten path misused.
The berry bush now overlooked,
Its leaves were often bruised.
Its tender roots at times exposed,
Down trodden and abused.
He soon forgot about the bush,
Forgotten how to taste.
He lost his way, and how to play,
His crown had been misplaced.
An early winter held its grip,
With ice and heavy snow.
The berry bush turned very frail,
Perhaps too weak to grow.
Its damaged limbs were breaking down,
The frost had caused decay.
Recovery would take some care
And love, along the way.
The boy matured into a man,
With children of his own.
They trudged through the neglected path,
To where the bush had grown.
To his dismay the berry bush
Was weakened and so small.
Had tattered leaves and broken limbs-
No berries there at all.
His roots exposed, and now deposed,
His heart began to call.
And at that moment he knew well,
That he had gone astray.
And things may come, and things may go,
That’s life’s impartial way.
Together, they would heal the bush,
They plucked and pruned and weeded.
They tended to its every need,
They nurtured, fed, and seeded.
When spring returned, green leaves appeared,
He saw the bush rebound.
Soon poking through around its base,
An offshoot could be found!
Sarah Jane Conklin
A Path to Somewhere, page 4.
When time allowed, the man returned
To taste the berries, sweet. But only picked the berries that
He needed, or could eat.
He’d cup his hands and fill them up,
Then savour as a treat.
Awakened by his gratitude,
And mem’ries of child play.
Was grateful for the many things
That lead him there that day.
For family, skies, and butterflies,
-A berry bush buffet.
The tended path now guiding him,
To where he’s meant to be.
Another bush was flourishing,
Profoundly he could see,
That things will come, and things will go,
And things will go unseen.
A berry bush unearthed his path,
To Somewhere else
- And in between.
A small boy liked to play.
With bugs to find, and trees to climb,
The boy would stay all day.
In time, a narrow path emerged,
It went from here to there.
With bumps and curves along the way,
And ending up somewhere.
Along the path there was a bush,
That grew in marshy ground.
Its branches heavy, laden down,
With berries big and round.
He paced with curiosity,
Was heedful of its root.
Then popped a berry in his mouth,
To taste the juicy fruit.
And oh that flavour made him smile,
That teeny tiny taste.
The sweetness in the juicy pulp,
Must not be lost in haste.
He laughed at all the berry juice,
That stained his fingertips.
Beneath his nails, and on his teeth,
Around his mouth and lips.
He thought of things that brought delight,
Like spotting silver dimes.
There’s skimming rocks and soggy socks,
His berry picking times.
He made a promise to himself,
To nurture and protect,
This berry bush on marshy mounds,
Which taught him to reflect.
Below the bush there lay some twigs,
The wind had taken down.
He wove them in a little round,
And wore it like a crown.
He wandered often through the path,
To taste the berries, sweet.
He’d cup his hands and fill them up,
Then savour as a treat.
The years go by. He’s older now,
He thought he knew his way.
So smart that he would not get lost,
And never go astray.
The widening path developed ruts,
Each time that he passed through.
He filled his pails right to the brim,
Brushed off the bugs and view.
The berries grew back just the same,
But carelessly were picked.
The boy would hardly taste them now,
His fingers barely licked.
He snatched and grabbed with buckets full,
He’d leave the branches bare.
He never thought about a day,
The bush would not be there.
He always had somewhere to go,
The beaten path misused.
The berry bush now overlooked,
Its leaves were often bruised.
Its tender roots at times exposed,
Down trodden and abused.
He soon forgot about the bush,
Forgotten how to taste.
He lost his way, and how to play,
His crown had been misplaced.
An early winter held its grip,
With ice and heavy snow.
The berry bush turned very frail,
Perhaps too weak to grow.
Its damaged limbs were breaking down,
The frost had caused decay.
Recovery would take some care
And love, along the way.
The boy matured into a man,
With children of his own.
They trudged through the neglected path,
To where the bush had grown.
To his dismay the berry bush
Was weakened and so small.
Had tattered leaves and broken limbs-
No berries there at all.
His roots exposed, and now deposed,
His heart began to call.
And at that moment he knew well,
That he had gone astray.
And things may come, and things may go,
That’s life’s impartial way.
Together, they would heal the bush,
They plucked and pruned and weeded.
They tended to its every need,
They nurtured, fed, and seeded.
When spring returned, green leaves appeared,
He saw the bush rebound.
Soon poking through around its base,
An offshoot could be found!
Sarah Jane Conklin
A Path to Somewhere, page 4.
When time allowed, the man returned
To taste the berries, sweet. But only picked the berries that
He needed, or could eat.
He’d cup his hands and fill them up,
Then savour as a treat.
Awakened by his gratitude,
And mem’ries of child play.
Was grateful for the many things
That lead him there that day.
For family, skies, and butterflies,
-A berry bush buffet.
The tended path now guiding him,
To where he’s meant to be.
Another bush was flourishing,
Profoundly he could see,
That things will come, and things will go,
And things will go unseen.
A berry bush unearthed his path,
To Somewhere else
- And in between.
Freeda's Beads of Joy
Music is good for the soul….we must all help each other to find moments of joy. Keep smiling and keep singing.
Dame Vera Lynn. March 2020 at 103 years old.
As Freeda stepped outside her house,
In her flamboyant way,
She waved at me - a passerby.
I stopped and said, “Good-day”.
Her striking jewelry caught my eye,
She wore it with great flare,
Of gaudy baubles, buttons, beads.
I couldn’t help but stare.
The necklace sparkled in the sun,
Its light bounced off her face.
Reflecting in her brilliant eyes,
And skin like patterned lace.
She wore big bracelets on her wrists,
And dangly earrings too,
In awe, I saw her shiny rings
Of pink and cobalt blue.
I asked about the beads she wore,
And how they came to be.
She looked delighted to be asked.
I listened, patiently.
Her smile was bright and genuine,
With calmness in her eyes.
Enthusiasm in her voice
Had tones both warm and wise.
Her words came out in music notes,
Both lyrical and sweet.
She mesmerized me with her song.
She kept a joyful beat.
“Collecting baubles, buttons, beads,
Is something that I do.
It’s always been a way to bring
The old back into new.
Repurposed from my ancestors,
And loved ones I have known,
From jewelry, cushions, beaded clothes,
Their usefulness has grown.
I string each item one by one,
Each moment I feel joy.
Creating helps me to recall-
Creating to enjoy.”
I asked her questions ‘bout her life,
Of things that made her smile.
She brought out lemonade to drink,
And sang to me a while:
“I love the lights at Christmastime,
The twinkly ones that glow,
They brighten up the darkest night
And sparkle through the snow....
To smell the scent of baking bread,
To hear the church bells chime,
To feel the love that friendship brings,
To find a silver dime.
To taste the tangs of summertime,
To touch a newborn’s face.
To dream of peaches heaped with cream,
To feel a warm embrace.
To sing, to play, to twirl about
To take a garden stroll.
To show how music heals the world-
It’s good for every soul.
To hear the peepers in the spring,
To crunch the winter snow.
To use imagination when
There’s nowhere else to go.
To look back at accomplishments
And hills I had to climb.
To give, receive, be kind, believe,
When all you have is time.”
Inviting me inside her house,
We stepped up to her door.
“If you would like to see more beads,
I’d like to show you more.
It’s moments that make up our lives-
Each one of them unique.
I’ve special ones that bring me joy.
Come in, and take a peek.”
And much to my astonishment,
From ceilings to the floors,
Were garlands of her strings of beads
Round windows, lights, and doors,
Adorning almost every inch
On walls and upstairs too.
I saw the joy in Freeda’s face,
As if she saw anew.
She pointed out her favourite beads,
And buttons that were old.
She giggled at their memories,
And stories that they told.
She sang, “When mem’ries start to blur,
The details start to fade.
But feelings of the happy times
Is what have always stayed.
And when I have a gloomy day,
I simply look around.
My joyous beads illuminate,
And moments can be found.
I like to hold them in my hands,
And roll them in my palm.
Like worry stones they comfort me
And give a sense of calm.”
I listened closely to her words-
Her pearls of wisdom deep.
Her optimism, teaching me
Forever, I will reap.
Soon travelers came from near and far,
To see her beaded place.
And those with frowns, had always left
With smiles upon their face.
Some thought the strands as cluttering,
While others thought them grand.
It didn’t matter what they thought;
She treasured every strand.
Her charms and songs could warm cold hearts.
And somehow they all knew-
Her unapologetic ways
Could teach a thing or two.
I visit her from time to time
To share a spot of tea.
She sings to me, “I’ve made new strands
Because you’re friends with me.”
By knowing she’s inspired me;
An unintended deed,
She’s joyful! And with nimble hands-
With threads to string.
And songs to sing.
…Adds one more precious bead.
Dame Vera Lynn. March 2020 at 103 years old.
As Freeda stepped outside her house,
In her flamboyant way,
She waved at me - a passerby.
I stopped and said, “Good-day”.
Her striking jewelry caught my eye,
She wore it with great flare,
Of gaudy baubles, buttons, beads.
I couldn’t help but stare.
The necklace sparkled in the sun,
Its light bounced off her face.
Reflecting in her brilliant eyes,
And skin like patterned lace.
She wore big bracelets on her wrists,
And dangly earrings too,
In awe, I saw her shiny rings
Of pink and cobalt blue.
I asked about the beads she wore,
And how they came to be.
She looked delighted to be asked.
I listened, patiently.
Her smile was bright and genuine,
With calmness in her eyes.
Enthusiasm in her voice
Had tones both warm and wise.
Her words came out in music notes,
Both lyrical and sweet.
She mesmerized me with her song.
She kept a joyful beat.
“Collecting baubles, buttons, beads,
Is something that I do.
It’s always been a way to bring
The old back into new.
Repurposed from my ancestors,
And loved ones I have known,
From jewelry, cushions, beaded clothes,
Their usefulness has grown.
I string each item one by one,
Each moment I feel joy.
Creating helps me to recall-
Creating to enjoy.”
I asked her questions ‘bout her life,
Of things that made her smile.
She brought out lemonade to drink,
And sang to me a while:
“I love the lights at Christmastime,
The twinkly ones that glow,
They brighten up the darkest night
And sparkle through the snow....
To smell the scent of baking bread,
To hear the church bells chime,
To feel the love that friendship brings,
To find a silver dime.
To taste the tangs of summertime,
To touch a newborn’s face.
To dream of peaches heaped with cream,
To feel a warm embrace.
To sing, to play, to twirl about
To take a garden stroll.
To show how music heals the world-
It’s good for every soul.
To hear the peepers in the spring,
To crunch the winter snow.
To use imagination when
There’s nowhere else to go.
To look back at accomplishments
And hills I had to climb.
To give, receive, be kind, believe,
When all you have is time.”
Inviting me inside her house,
We stepped up to her door.
“If you would like to see more beads,
I’d like to show you more.
It’s moments that make up our lives-
Each one of them unique.
I’ve special ones that bring me joy.
Come in, and take a peek.”
And much to my astonishment,
From ceilings to the floors,
Were garlands of her strings of beads
Round windows, lights, and doors,
Adorning almost every inch
On walls and upstairs too.
I saw the joy in Freeda’s face,
As if she saw anew.
She pointed out her favourite beads,
And buttons that were old.
She giggled at their memories,
And stories that they told.
She sang, “When mem’ries start to blur,
The details start to fade.
But feelings of the happy times
Is what have always stayed.
And when I have a gloomy day,
I simply look around.
My joyous beads illuminate,
And moments can be found.
I like to hold them in my hands,
And roll them in my palm.
Like worry stones they comfort me
And give a sense of calm.”
I listened closely to her words-
Her pearls of wisdom deep.
Her optimism, teaching me
Forever, I will reap.
Soon travelers came from near and far,
To see her beaded place.
And those with frowns, had always left
With smiles upon their face.
Some thought the strands as cluttering,
While others thought them grand.
It didn’t matter what they thought;
She treasured every strand.
Her charms and songs could warm cold hearts.
And somehow they all knew-
Her unapologetic ways
Could teach a thing or two.
I visit her from time to time
To share a spot of tea.
She sings to me, “I’ve made new strands
Because you’re friends with me.”
By knowing she’s inspired me;
An unintended deed,
She’s joyful! And with nimble hands-
With threads to string.
And songs to sing.
…Adds one more precious bead.
What's in Flora's Shoe box?
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
Within a small red box.
What are these keepsakes that she loves,
That she’s kept from the start?
Are they from places where she’s been,
Held closely to her heart?
She's traveled all around the world,
Her dad right by her side.
Environmental scientists,
Their conscience as their guide.
Her knapsack packed, with her supplies,
She headed out her door.
Announcing in her strongest voice,
“I’m ready to explore.”
Now Flora has the travel bug,
And keeps a busy pace.
Adventures all around the world,
But hasn’t left a trace.
She’s watched the Arctic polar bears,
And felt the glacial air.
Ice Crystals floated all around
And formed in Flora’s hair.
She’s seen the deserts, hot and dry,
With golden hills of sand.
She’s run her fingers through the grains,
Watched sand spill from her hand.
She’s seen high tides on Fundy shores,
Found driftwood, shells and sand.
Birds nest among the grassy dunes,
Where ocean meets the land.
She’s swam in icy ocean tides,
With beach rocks soft and round.
While icebergs in the distance float,
And fishes school,
And seagulls dive,
And right whales breach unbound.
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
Within a small red box.
She takes them out from time to time,
And holds them in her hands.
She gently cradles every piece,
From deserts, seas and lands.
She’s walked the flooded Paddy Fields,
For growing crops of rice.
She’s seen exotic plants and birds,
Ate grains of paradise.
She’s climbed the Rockies’ craggy face,
And met a mountain critter.
And with her knapsack on her back,
Camped in canyons,
Crawled in caves,
Was careful not to litter.
She’s witnessed wonders of the fall,
When colours are so bold.
The maple leaves that start out green,
Now turn to red and gold.
She’s played with dolphins out at sea,
Explored a coral reef.
Wild horses snorted in her face,
She laughed in disbelief.
She’s hiked fjords and grassy plains,
Seen waterfalls galore.
She’s trekked on trails, and walked in woods,
Ran through the rugged Cliffs of Moher,
Until her feet got sore.
She’s tip toed through some wild flower fields,
Their scent all in her wake.
So careful of the tender shoots,
She wouldn’t want to break.
She’s braved the jungle’s wilderness,
Was drenched by heavy rain.
She drank the milk from coconuts,
And smelled the wet terrain.
So what’s in Flora’s small red box,
Come closer as I tell.
It’s not so secret after all,
They’re things that you know well.
Small paper notes, all gently rolled,
And wrapped up in a bow,
Of all the places in the world,
Where Flora likes to go.
All natures treasures that she’s seen,
Are left where they belong.
For taking them as souvenirs.
To Flora would be wrong.
Those trophies are not hers to take,
As proof of where she’s been.
She knows what she’s experienced,
As memories deep within.
For nature’s gifts cannot be owned,
Or bought like any toy.
And Flora hopes they’ll be preserved,
For others to enjoy.
She’s older now and lives her life
With kindness, love, and truth.
Her knapsack packed, she passes on
The wisdom of her youth.
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
She’s filling up her box.
Each tiny scroll wrapped in a bow,
Plays out a living part,
Of all the places she’s explored,
Remembers,
Honours,
Loves,
Respects,
Kept stored within her heart.
Come Closer, Look Again
Smaller than a dinosaur,
But bigger than a bear,
A boulder’s tucked back in the woods,
Forever, it’s been there.
It’s wondrous in its natural form,
A nursery, home, and den.
You may not notice at first glance,
Come closer, look again.
Among the trees and woodland brush,
It blends into the scene.
If not a second closer look,
I’d never would have seen.
Its weathered all the heavy storms,
With winds that howl and blow.
Is unaffected, by the rain,
Or ice and heavy snow.
A closer look, it’s crevices,
Have tiny forms of life.
Sprouting seeds and baby bugs,
A nursery for wildlife.
And on one side there is a ledge,
Where I can safely sit.
A little chair, a throne of sorts,
I stay to think a bit.
I’m nestled in the trees around,
The pine and fir and birch.
Then watch as sparrows, crows and wrens,
Fly down to take a perch.
Its striped with veins of sediment,
Of white and flex of gold.
Perhaps entombed with fossils from
The Ice Age, oh, that’s old!
A bearded, scaly tree entwines
Its roots around its form.
Creating spaces, tiny rooms,
A woodland creature’s dorm.
The pockets of collected dirt,
Make perfect little holes.
As squirrels, chipmunks scurry in,
And moles and tiny voles.
When my imagination runs,
I think of what could be.
A closer look, a world exists,
If only just to me.
Is this an old enchanted rock,
Where mythic creatures hide?
No bigger than four inches tall,
Down little holes they slide.
I wonder if these elves can sing,
Or if the faeries talk.
One thing that I believe for fact,
It’s more than just a rock.
Perhaps the root’s a giant claw
Protecting very well,
The secret homes and cavities,
Where elves and faeries dwell.
They feast upon the berries from
The bushes all around.
And chestnuts, acorns, pine cones too,
That fall onto the ground.
They keep a pretty fancy home,
Though never have been seen,
With pebbled pots and shady spots,
And carpets mossy green.
The sun wakes up the dewy sky,
I see the carpet glisten.
I hear the sounds that mornings bring,
If I just closely listen.
And on an even closer look,
I see a trail of ants.
This microcosm feeding them,
With bugs and woodland plants.
I feel the roughness in its size,
And smell the forest floor.
The richness in the leaves and soil,
Each life producing spore.
Before I leave, I circle ‘round,
And take a final look.
There’s weeds that ‘milk’,
A spider’s silk,
Small slugs with slime,
A twisty vine,
Some sticky sap,
A mushroom cap,
Another secret nook.
So if you see a lily pond,
A rose or winter wren,
A forest floor, please look some more,
Just every now and then.
And all the possibilities,
Present themselves, and when,
There’s always more than meets the eye,
Don’t pass it by.
But wonder why.
Let your imagination fly.
Come closer, look again.
Full preview of of Come Closer, Look Again here:
Goodnight to Me
As I lay in bed
while I go to sleep,
My thoughts start to swirl ‘round my head.
To quiet my mind, I try to unwind,
Take comfort in my little bed.
Good night to my eyes,
I flutter them closed.
The wonders that they help me see.
The sun and the stars, I think I’ve seen Mars,
The dance of the wild honey bee.
Good night to my ears,
I tune out the sounds,
The wonders that they help me hear.
Like haunting loon calls, and thunderous falls,
The crunch from a family of deer.
Good night to my nose,
I breathe in the air,
The wondrous scents I can smell.
Baked bread, and earth’s dirt, my dad’s favourite shirt,
Inside of a seaside seashell.
Good night to my mouth
My lips barely touch.
The wonderful things it can do.
Like taste juicy fruit, and play on my flute,
And utter the words ‘I love you’.
Good night to my arms,
They lay by my side,
The wonders that they help me hold.
My books and my cat, who wouldn’t love that,
My mom when I’m shivering cold.
Good night to my hands,
My palms face the sky,
The wonders that they help me feel.
There’s velvet and lace, my grandmothers face,
My orange’s rough and smooth peel.
Good night to my legs,
I try to keep still,
The wondrous places we’ve walked.
On pathways and shores, and all the outdoors,
Where mountains and canyons have talked.
Good night to my feet,
My toes tingle too.
The wonderful balance they bring.
They help me climb rocks, I wear fancy socks,
I twirl on my toes when I sing.
Good night to my heart,
It rises and falls,
My wondrous life hears its call.
It gives and receives, it heals and believes,
There’s plenty of
Room,
Hope,
Love,
for us all.
I FLY
I peer outside my window pane,
And see a Robin’s breast.
I soon discover to my joy,
She’s sitting on her nest.
I’m privileged to have seen her clutch
Upon my window ledge.
From small blue eggs to small hatchlings
Then watching as they fledge.
There’s so much in the world to see,
To love in many ways,
The ones we hold, the things we own,
The lives that fill our days.
But natures gifts are dear to me,
Like hatchlings in their nest,
I’m thankful for the time we shared,
And feel so truly blessed.
Remembering how much I changed,
The love I felt inside.
For animals, and all that breathe,
My heart was opened wide.
To love something, you give the gift,
To honour and respect.
Our friends, belongings, natures gifts,
Our planet to protect.
It’s Spring, the Robin has arrived,
I hope she stays around.
She forages for food to eat,
And plucks worms from the ground.
I watch with curiosity,
And whisper while nearby,
“I’ll forever love you”, or may simply say
“I FLY”.
This songbird sings in early dawn,
She stands so proud and tall.
A whistle-like ‘cheer up cheer up’
A ‘tuk’ or ‘peek’ sound call.
I listen to the music sounds,
And whisper in reply,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”
I see the Robin flying ‘round,
And think about her view.
I look again and see her mate,
Where once was one, now two.
And with delight, I watch them court,
Then whisper knowing why,
“I’ll forever love you” or more simply said,
“I FLY”
The Robins start to use their skills,
The sun has caught their breasts.
They pick up twigs, use mud and string,
And weave a tight, round, nest.
I look with wonder at their nest,
And whisper way up high,
“I’ll forever love you”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
The nest is built, the weather fine,
And with a mother’s touch.
She perches and within two days,
She lays her precious clutch.
I look with awe upon the eggs,
And whisper as I spy,
“I’ll forever love you” or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
The mother Robin incubates
Her clutch for 14 days,
These small and delicate blue eggs,
Soon hatchlings she will raise.
I see her patience and her love,
And whisper passing by.
‘I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
‘I FLY”.
Both parents help care for their young,
To keep them fed and dry.
They nurture and fiercely protect,
Give strength, so they can fly.
I watch with reverence as they grow,
And whisper to the sky,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
It’s summer, and the nestlings grow,
With parent’s watchful eye.
By 13 days, not fully grown,
They jump then learn to fly.
In full amazement I look on,
And whisper as they try,
I’ll forever Love You”, or more simply said,
‘I FLY”.
It’s fall, and all the baby birds,
Will roost throughout the night.
Then many birds become a flock,
In winter they’ll take flight.
I watch with pride as they all leave,
And whisper a ‘good bye’,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said, ‘I FLY’
Although most Robins migrate south,
Some others choose to stay.
With many lessons under wing,
Full grown, they’ve found their way.
I’m grateful for their many gifts,
And whisper in a sigh,
-“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
The months will pass with wintry days,
We watch for signs of spring.
With blessing on our side we wait.
To hear the Robin sing.
I’ll listen to her song of hope,
And whisper in reply,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply put,
“I FLY”.
The Robin signals spring has come,
In nature- a rebirth.
We all must honour and respect,
Our precious planet Earth.
And thankful for the air we breathe
We’ll whisper as we try,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
And see a Robin’s breast.
I soon discover to my joy,
She’s sitting on her nest.
I’m privileged to have seen her clutch
Upon my window ledge.
From small blue eggs to small hatchlings
Then watching as they fledge.
There’s so much in the world to see,
To love in many ways,
The ones we hold, the things we own,
The lives that fill our days.
But natures gifts are dear to me,
Like hatchlings in their nest,
I’m thankful for the time we shared,
And feel so truly blessed.
Remembering how much I changed,
The love I felt inside.
For animals, and all that breathe,
My heart was opened wide.
To love something, you give the gift,
To honour and respect.
Our friends, belongings, natures gifts,
Our planet to protect.
It’s Spring, the Robin has arrived,
I hope she stays around.
She forages for food to eat,
And plucks worms from the ground.
I watch with curiosity,
And whisper while nearby,
“I’ll forever love you”, or may simply say
“I FLY”.
This songbird sings in early dawn,
She stands so proud and tall.
A whistle-like ‘cheer up cheer up’
A ‘tuk’ or ‘peek’ sound call.
I listen to the music sounds,
And whisper in reply,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”
I see the Robin flying ‘round,
And think about her view.
I look again and see her mate,
Where once was one, now two.
And with delight, I watch them court,
Then whisper knowing why,
“I’ll forever love you” or more simply said,
“I FLY”
The Robins start to use their skills,
The sun has caught their breasts.
They pick up twigs, use mud and string,
And weave a tight, round, nest.
I look with wonder at their nest,
And whisper way up high,
“I’ll forever love you”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
The nest is built, the weather fine,
And with a mother’s touch.
She perches and within two days,
She lays her precious clutch.
I look with awe upon the eggs,
And whisper as I spy,
“I’ll forever love you” or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
The mother Robin incubates
Her clutch for 14 days,
These small and delicate blue eggs,
Soon hatchlings she will raise.
I see her patience and her love,
And whisper passing by.
‘I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
‘I FLY”.
Both parents help care for their young,
To keep them fed and dry.
They nurture and fiercely protect,
Give strength, so they can fly.
I watch with reverence as they grow,
And whisper to the sky,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
It’s summer, and the nestlings grow,
With parent’s watchful eye.
By 13 days, not fully grown,
They jump then learn to fly.
In full amazement I look on,
And whisper as they try,
I’ll forever Love You”, or more simply said,
‘I FLY”.
It’s fall, and all the baby birds,
Will roost throughout the night.
Then many birds become a flock,
In winter they’ll take flight.
I watch with pride as they all leave,
And whisper a ‘good bye’,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said, ‘I FLY’
Although most Robins migrate south,
Some others choose to stay.
With many lessons under wing,
Full grown, they’ve found their way.
I’m grateful for their many gifts,
And whisper in a sigh,
-“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
The months will pass with wintry days,
We watch for signs of spring.
With blessing on our side we wait.
To hear the Robin sing.
I’ll listen to her song of hope,
And whisper in reply,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply put,
“I FLY”.
The Robin signals spring has come,
In nature- a rebirth.
We all must honour and respect,
Our precious planet Earth.
And thankful for the air we breathe
We’ll whisper as we try,
“I’ll Forever Love You”, or more simply said,
“I FLY”.
Two Tough Birds
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee chirps so all can hear,
And that is just like me.
I too have many things to say,
And that’s OK with me.
The Chickadee’s small, and light in weight,
And that is just like me.
But when I stand with shoulders back,
I feel I’m 6 foot 3!
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee plays with many friends,
And that is just like me.
Sometimes we don’t all get along,
And don’t always agree.
The bigger Blue Jays come around,
And may scare her away.
There may be bullies in your midst,
And that is NOT OK.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee acts quite curious,
And that is just like me.
But lessons learned along the way,
Make me a better me.
The Chickadee eats throughout the day,
And that is just like me.
She snacks on seeds, and tiny bugs,
The bugs are NOT for me!
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee spreads her feathered wings,
And that is just like me.
With outstretched arms, and windblown hair,
I face the wind carefree.
The Chickadee braves the bitter cold,
And that is just like me.
I zip my coat up to my nose,
I’m cozy as can be.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee plays throughout the day,
And that is just like me.
Sometimes it’s fun to make believe,
At afternoon ‘high tea’.
The Chickadee hides in trees and shrubs,
And that is just like me.
My Tree fort now becomes my throne,
I’m queen of land and sea!
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee sleeps when it gets dark,
And that is just like me.
She’ll find a spot that’s safe to stay,
My bed is where I’ll be.
The Chickadee wakes to brand new days,
And that is just like me,
All new adventures to explore,
We’ll face with bravery.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee’s moves will make you smile,
And that is just like me.
We hop around like acrobats,
We’re busy (lively)as can be.
The Chickadee has a lot of charm,
And that is just like me.
I’m sometimes shy, but sometimes not,
It’s me just being me.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee is a spunky bird,
And that is just like me.
With fancy feathers in our caps
I’m proud of what I see.
The Chickadee’s smart, courageous too,
I am her biggest fan.
We’re two tough birds who learn fly,
Because we know we can.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee chirps so all can hear,
And that is just like me.
I too have many things to say,
And that’s OK with me.
The Chickadee’s small, and light in weight,
And that is just like me.
But when I stand with shoulders back,
I feel I’m 6 foot 3!
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee plays with many friends,
And that is just like me.
Sometimes we don’t all get along,
And don’t always agree.
The bigger Blue Jays come around,
And may scare her away.
There may be bullies in your midst,
And that is NOT OK.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee acts quite curious,
And that is just like me.
But lessons learned along the way,
Make me a better me.
The Chickadee eats throughout the day,
And that is just like me.
She snacks on seeds, and tiny bugs,
The bugs are NOT for me!
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee spreads her feathered wings,
And that is just like me.
With outstretched arms, and windblown hair,
I face the wind carefree.
The Chickadee braves the bitter cold,
And that is just like me.
I zip my coat up to my nose,
I’m cozy as can be.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee plays throughout the day,
And that is just like me.
Sometimes it’s fun to make believe,
At afternoon ‘high tea’.
The Chickadee hides in trees and shrubs,
And that is just like me.
My Tree fort now becomes my throne,
I’m queen of land and sea!
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee sleeps when it gets dark,
And that is just like me.
She’ll find a spot that’s safe to stay,
My bed is where I’ll be.
The Chickadee wakes to brand new days,
And that is just like me,
All new adventures to explore,
We’ll face with bravery.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee’s moves will make you smile,
And that is just like me.
We hop around like acrobats,
We’re busy (lively)as can be.
The Chickadee has a lot of charm,
And that is just like me.
I’m sometimes shy, but sometimes not,
It’s me just being me.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us
And a little tough bird in me.
The Chickadee is a spunky bird,
And that is just like me.
With fancy feathers in our caps
I’m proud of what I see.
The Chickadee’s smart, courageous too,
I am her biggest fan.
We’re two tough birds who learn fly,
Because we know we can.
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
Chick-a dee dee dee dee dee
There’s a little tough bird ‘round all of us,
And a little tough bird in me.
What Happens at Night?
Do you snore when you sleep?
Can anyone hear?
Is your mouth left wide open?
Do clouds disappear?
Do your dreams come alive?
Do birds take a break?
What happens at night
When we’re not awake.
Do you cuddle your teddy,
For comfort and heat?
Fluff up your pillow?
Wear socks on your feet?
Do you wash up your face,
And brush out your hair?
Do you have favorite PJS
That you like to wear?
As you snuggle all in,
And tucked in just right.
Our minds start to wander,
What goes on in the night.
The world is kept busy,
It’s big yet so small.
With doctors and nurses,
Who all are on call.
Police will protect,
And firemen too.
Pilots and truckers,
So Many…who knew?
So still and so quiet,
As I Iie in bed.
And Questions are circling
All ‘round in my head.
Do I snore when I sleep?
Can anyone hear?
Is my mouth left wide open?
Do clouds disappear?
Will my dreams come alive?
Do birds take a break?
What happens at night,
When I’m not awake?
I’m grateful and thankful,
For so many things.
The sun and the moon,
And what each day brings.
There’s hot dogs and ketchup,
And cold ice cream cake.
And sunshine and camping,
Fun swims in the lake.
There’s kisses on boo boos,
And hugs when I’m sad.
There’s calls from my grandma,
Her smiles make me glad.
The things in my bedroom,
That all bear my name.
The pictures and posters,
My Checker Board game.
The scent on my pillow,
The feel of my sheet.
The weight of my blankets,
That cover my feet.
I’m never alone,
There’s love in my wake.
With comfort I know,
There are others awake.
What happens at night,
When I’m fast asleep?
The world keeps on turning,
Shhhh, don’t make a peep.
What’s in Flora’s Shoe Box?
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Amongst her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
Within a small red box.
What are these keepsakes that she loves,
That she’s kept from the start?
Are they from places where she’s been,
Held closely to her heart?
She traveled all around the world
Her dad right by her side.
Environmental scientists,
Their conscience was their guide.
Her knapsack packed with her supplies,
She headed out her door.
Announced in her excited voice,
“I’m ready to explore.”
Observing land and animals,
They kept a busy pace.
Learned all about the planet Earth,
But hadn’t left a trace.
She’s watched the Arctic polar bears,
And felt the glacial air.
Ice Crystals floated all around
And formed in Flora’s hair.
She’s seen the deserts, hot and dry,
With golden hills of sand.
She’s run her fingers through the grains,
Watched sand spill from her hand.
She’s walked the beach on coastal shores,
Found driftwood, shells and sand.
Birds nest among the grassy dunes,
Where ocean meets the land.
She’s swam in icy ocean tides,
With beach rocks soft and round.
While icebergs in the distance float,
And fishes school,
And seagulls dive,
And right whales breach unbound.
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
Within a small red box.
She takes them out from time to time,
And holds them in her hands.
She gently cradles every piece,
From deserts, seas and lands.
She’s walked the flooded Paddy Fields,
For growing crops of rice.
She’s seen exotic plants and birds,
Ate grains of paradise.
She’s climbed the Rockies’ craggy face,
And met a mountain critter.
And with her knapsack on her back,
Camped in canyons,
Crawled in caves,
Was careful not to litter.
She’s witnessed wonders of the fall,
When colours are so bold.
The maple leaves that start out green,
Now turn to red and gold.
She’s played with dolphins out at sea,
Explored a coral reef.
Wild horses snorted in her face,
She laughed in disbelief.
She’s hiked fjords and grassy plains,
Seen waterfalls galore.
She’s trekked on trails, and walked in woods,
Ran through the rugged Cliffs of Moher,
Until her feet got sore.
She’s tip toed through some wild flower fields,
Their scent all in her wake.
So careful of the tender shoots,
She wouldn’t want to break.
She’s braved the jungle’s wilderness,
Was drenched by heavy rain.
She drank the milk from coconuts,
And smelled the wet terrain.
She’s planted trees, composted food,
And helped a calf in birth.
Reducing garbage with intent,
She heal her planet Earth.
So what’s in Flora’s small red box,
Come closer as I tell.
It’s not so secret after all,
They’re things that you know well.
Small paper notes, all gently rolled,
And wrapped up in a bow,
Of all the places in the world,
Where Flora likes to go.
All natures treasures that she’s seen,
Are left where they belong.
For taking them as souvenirs.
To Flora would be wrong.
Those trophies are not hers to take,
As proof of where she’s been.
She knows what she’s experienced,
As memories deep within.
For nature’s gifts cannot be owned,
Or bought like any toy.
And Flora hopes they’ll be preserved,
For others to enjoy.
She’s older now and lives her life
With kindness, love, and truth.
Her knapsack packed, she passes on
The wisdom of her youth.
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
She’s filling up her box.
Each tiny scroll wrapped in a bow,
Plays out a living part,
Of all the places she’s explored,
Remembers,
Honours,
Loves,
Respects,
Kept stored within her heart.
Can anyone hear?
Is your mouth left wide open?
Do clouds disappear?
Do your dreams come alive?
Do birds take a break?
What happens at night
When we’re not awake.
Do you cuddle your teddy,
For comfort and heat?
Fluff up your pillow?
Wear socks on your feet?
Do you wash up your face,
And brush out your hair?
Do you have favorite PJS
That you like to wear?
As you snuggle all in,
And tucked in just right.
Our minds start to wander,
What goes on in the night.
The world is kept busy,
It’s big yet so small.
With doctors and nurses,
Who all are on call.
Police will protect,
And firemen too.
Pilots and truckers,
So Many…who knew?
So still and so quiet,
As I Iie in bed.
And Questions are circling
All ‘round in my head.
Do I snore when I sleep?
Can anyone hear?
Is my mouth left wide open?
Do clouds disappear?
Will my dreams come alive?
Do birds take a break?
What happens at night,
When I’m not awake?
I’m grateful and thankful,
For so many things.
The sun and the moon,
And what each day brings.
There’s hot dogs and ketchup,
And cold ice cream cake.
And sunshine and camping,
Fun swims in the lake.
There’s kisses on boo boos,
And hugs when I’m sad.
There’s calls from my grandma,
Her smiles make me glad.
The things in my bedroom,
That all bear my name.
The pictures and posters,
My Checker Board game.
The scent on my pillow,
The feel of my sheet.
The weight of my blankets,
That cover my feet.
I’m never alone,
There’s love in my wake.
With comfort I know,
There are others awake.
What happens at night,
When I’m fast asleep?
The world keeps on turning,
Shhhh, don’t make a peep.
What’s in Flora’s Shoe Box?
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Amongst her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
Within a small red box.
What are these keepsakes that she loves,
That she’s kept from the start?
Are they from places where she’s been,
Held closely to her heart?
She traveled all around the world
Her dad right by her side.
Environmental scientists,
Their conscience was their guide.
Her knapsack packed with her supplies,
She headed out her door.
Announced in her excited voice,
“I’m ready to explore.”
Observing land and animals,
They kept a busy pace.
Learned all about the planet Earth,
But hadn’t left a trace.
She’s watched the Arctic polar bears,
And felt the glacial air.
Ice Crystals floated all around
And formed in Flora’s hair.
She’s seen the deserts, hot and dry,
With golden hills of sand.
She’s run her fingers through the grains,
Watched sand spill from her hand.
She’s walked the beach on coastal shores,
Found driftwood, shells and sand.
Birds nest among the grassy dunes,
Where ocean meets the land.
She’s swam in icy ocean tides,
With beach rocks soft and round.
While icebergs in the distance float,
And fishes school,
And seagulls dive,
And right whales breach unbound.
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
Within a small red box.
She takes them out from time to time,
And holds them in her hands.
She gently cradles every piece,
From deserts, seas and lands.
She’s walked the flooded Paddy Fields,
For growing crops of rice.
She’s seen exotic plants and birds,
Ate grains of paradise.
She’s climbed the Rockies’ craggy face,
And met a mountain critter.
And with her knapsack on her back,
Camped in canyons,
Crawled in caves,
Was careful not to litter.
She’s witnessed wonders of the fall,
When colours are so bold.
The maple leaves that start out green,
Now turn to red and gold.
She’s played with dolphins out at sea,
Explored a coral reef.
Wild horses snorted in her face,
She laughed in disbelief.
She’s hiked fjords and grassy plains,
Seen waterfalls galore.
She’s trekked on trails, and walked in woods,
Ran through the rugged Cliffs of Moher,
Until her feet got sore.
She’s tip toed through some wild flower fields,
Their scent all in her wake.
So careful of the tender shoots,
She wouldn’t want to break.
She’s braved the jungle’s wilderness,
Was drenched by heavy rain.
She drank the milk from coconuts,
And smelled the wet terrain.
She’s planted trees, composted food,
And helped a calf in birth.
Reducing garbage with intent,
She heal her planet Earth.
So what’s in Flora’s small red box,
Come closer as I tell.
It’s not so secret after all,
They’re things that you know well.
Small paper notes, all gently rolled,
And wrapped up in a bow,
Of all the places in the world,
Where Flora likes to go.
All natures treasures that she’s seen,
Are left where they belong.
For taking them as souvenirs.
To Flora would be wrong.
Those trophies are not hers to take,
As proof of where she’s been.
She knows what she’s experienced,
As memories deep within.
For nature’s gifts cannot be owned,
Or bought like any toy.
And Flora hopes they’ll be preserved,
For others to enjoy.
She’s older now and lives her life
With kindness, love, and truth.
Her knapsack packed, she passes on
The wisdom of her youth.
In Flora’s room, beneath her bed,
Among her books and socks,
Is where her secret treasures are,
She’s filling up her box.
Each tiny scroll wrapped in a bow,
Plays out a living part,
Of all the places she’s explored,
Remembers,
Honours,
Loves,
Respects,
Kept stored within her heart.
