With shining eyes, the prettiest
advances leading all the rest.
She skips with glee beneath blue skies,
the prettiest with shining eyes.
The second, with a warming smile,
comes dressed in lace, and all the while
she lithely romps beneath the sun
with warming smile, the second one.
And woebegone, the daughter third,
walks, scowling, speaking not a word.
She trudges slowly on and on -
the daughter third and woebegone.
Now comes along a steadfast son
whose sauntering seems never done.
He perseveres though winds be strong.
A steadfast son now comes along.
The second boy along the trail
has charity, which does not fail.
He renders aid and brings sweet joy
along the trail, the second boy.
Another son, now onward pressed,
endures although fatigued and stressed.
He's labored much and cannot run,
now onward pressed, another son.
At course's end, a daughter fair
who rests - lets down her golden hair.
Most cheerful, tender, gracious friend,
the daughter at the course's end.
(Please click on "About Poem" to see the
fortune-telling nursery rhyme this is based on.)
For Francine Roberts'
children in rhyme Poetry Contest
One moist patch, like dewy grass,
surrounded by a field of weeds,
emerges first and breathes at last,
through openings, the air it needs.
Cut off from, and cut off of;
counting on, and counting in;
from down below, to up above -
A smack on tender, crimson skin.
There is a pulse.
One spring bud, like seedling stems,
surrounded by a garden wall,
is standing out from all of them,
despite the fact, they're just as tall.
And though the bud has not yet grown,
the soil and the water see
more than just the seed they've sewn.
They see the flower it will be.
There is a pulse.
One tall stem, like climbing vines,
surrounded by its petals' plumes,
shares its elegant designs,
and stretches as it blooms.
And when the wind begins to call,
the flower spreads it's pollen 'round.
It falls in love, and loves in fall,
and falling love renews the ground.
There is a pulse.
John Weaver 2000 (Emily has cerebral palsy)
Her room is not the sort of room you’d quite expect to find
For a little girl whose love of life is clear
No toys or games or bats or balls, or fun things of that kind
No bicycle or skateboard will appear
But the little piece of crumpled silver paper
It's very cheerful and bright with pictures everywhere
A pump to feed her through the night and a big adapted chair
Though pretty dolls sit on the shelf and teddies on her bed
She cannot play with them herself so she holds them tight instead
And the little piece of crumpled silver paper
It was Christmas day some years ago with excitement in the air
When we opened her presents and then found
That she couldn’t play with them and it didn’t seem quite fair
That she would always be so cruelly bound
To a life without the toys that all children adore
And then we heard a new sound that meant so much more
A crackle from the little piece of crumpled silver paper
The expensive gifts didn’t matter to this special little girl
Her joy came from quite another caper
As the parcels and the packaging slowly started to unfurl
All she wanted was the silver wrapping paper
You see, she could grasp it tight to make a funny noise instead
And so it fast became a dear friend
And she holds it close beside her even when she goes to bed
And the lesson to be learned is, in the end…
Happiness is not always found in gifts so big and costly
And often simple things can bring the joy you need
Contentment is a state of mind and the choice is yours mostly
To be content with what you’ve got and with every little deed
Or, to always be in want and never satisfied
And so for me the real belief will never taper
That the truth of life is clear and very closely tied
To the little piece of crumpled silver paper.
You inspire me with the words I speak
You inspire me with the smile I share
You inspire me with the love I give others
You inspire me to be who I am
You inspire me to not be afraid
You inspire me to show my pride
You inspire me to encourage others
You inspire me to be independent
You inspire me with the personality I have
You inspire me to be a better person
For you inspire me with the love I share with you
By John Weaver
At school I learned to read and write, to add and take away,
Of geography and history and sports I learned to play
They taught me all about the world and even outer space
And how to beat another as competition I would face
I learned of lands and cultures that had a different cause
And so we fought and beat them in many different wars
They said that strength and power was the thing I needed most
That I should learn to conquer others, no matter what the cost
They taught me how to be a winner at my work and play
And never mind the loser who may fall along the way
Through all those years of learning the plan was plain to see,
The only thing that mattered was what I could do for ME
Then I met my teacher who taught me something new
That all those things I’d learned had nothing at all to do
With living life with purpose and thought for our fellow man
By showing care and love to others as often as we can
My teacher taught me that life is a level playing field
That we’re all in it together sharing wounds that must be healed
There simply is no difference between you and me
We’re all God’s own children and one big family
My teacher taught the needs of others and the hardships they have to face
May well have been my own, if not for God’s good grace
That handicaps and weaknesses are really there to prove
How fortunate I am to see and talk and hear and move
My teacher showed that happiness is just a case of choice
Instead of choosing sadness we simply choose rejoice
Rejoice that we are able to experience every day
The beauty that the blind can’t see and words the mute can’t say
To walk and talk and feed yourself are gifts you should embrace
It’s the taking part that matters and not who wins the race
And as each and every one of us is taking part in life
What matters most is our gratitude regardless of our strife
To be grateful for the gifts you have and not those you desire
Is the secret to your happiness and to which you should aspire
To show your love to others with help, support and care
To let them know if needed that you are always there
My teacher taught me lessons I never will forget; and I know it sounds absurd
But she taught me all of this and yet…SHE NEVER SPOKE A WORD.
(I call Emily my teacher because although she cannot speak and can do so little, she has taught me so much).
By John Weaver
Whenever I dream of my little girl she runs and shouts and plays
Like all the other children in all their boisterous ways
I see her skip, I see her trip; I hear her laugh and cry
Then when she’s had her fun, home she’ll run and into my arms she’ll fly
With a great big hug and a teasing tug, she’ll cuddle me close and say
‘Daddy I love you heaps and heaps’ in her cheeky little way.
Whenever I dream of my little girl, she’s healthy, fit and well
With eyes alight and a smile so bright it’s really hard to tell
That my dream is a wish and a longing, a hope for something new
For her life to be one that is normal and able-bodied too.
But then I awake and I have to forsake my dream for what is true
That she cannot walk and she cannot talk like the other children do
That she cannot shout and skip about and cuddle me close and say
The things she desperately wants to, yet in her own special way…
Instead she talks to me with her eyes and reassures me with her smile
That all is well and I can tell that she’s happy all the while
Knowing that one day in some magical way, we’ll play together and scheme
And sing and shout and skip about…in an everlasting dream.
These past years I’ve lived in memories,
stitched together to fight the growing grey.
Thoughts and longings like light
dappled through the leaves of a forest.
Lost amongst the loam and brush
this fog settles, befuddles the mind.
Long forgotten branches grown
mossed beards shudder though
breath and wind hasn't blown.
Bereft of life and sun the growth
is sterile, dry and false.
These trails winding in and out
Stumbling through roots and shade
To bask in the warmth of her memory when found.
I have been the prodigal daughter,
Lost in the path home, for home was her
And she has gone.
the morning dew...
Loving and considerate
The first of her kind'
She is a glimpse of
Her own reflection
Garnered from time'
A reflection worthy
- Of -
Fore She is
Her Mother's child
Willful and obedient
She shall always' smile
She is also a Child of God
Divinely and duly resurrected
She is only surpassed
By Her tenacity,
And her capacity
Which should be the envy
Due to it's charm and varsity
And her Self of well being
Cant believe your not here
Trying to erase the fear
I didn't get to say goodbye
It wasn't that long ago
That i had you in my arms
Hugging you to let you know
That I needed you more
I breathe a little deeper
trying to hold back all the tears
Remembering the times
You was always here
The days and years
Months and weeks
Went by so fast
I couldn't even think
Memories of you
Wonder through my head
Times where you would "Baby" me
Daddy's little girl is what you said
I couldn't deny it
How true that is
Not trying to believe
That your not here
I know this won't be easy
Apart of my heart is missing
As tears roll down my face
Thinking about you
I hold tight to the good times
and let the bad ones slip through
There will be times I'll stare in space
Wondering how things would be
If you didn't leave this place
The times you would sing to me
The times you would cry
The times where you'd smile
I'll never let that slip by
You'll always be in my heart
No matter what i do
I didn't think I'd have to picture
My life without you
All the birthdays cards i made you
Ill hold close and dear
In my life you'll always be here
I'll remember the mornings
I'd wake up and see your face
I didn't think I'd ever have to say
Goodbye this way
Daddy's little girl is what I'll always be
I'll never forget you
Please remember me.
I love you Daddy