Something New
I’ve written of the happy times,
I’ve written of the sad.
I’m looking through my memories
For something that is bad.
Perhaps I should tell my great age,
But that would be contrary
To vow I made not to reveal it,
Even in my obituary.
I must try to think of something
That would give me claim to fame.
That I can’t recall a single thing
Should give me cause for shame.
I’ve walked the straight and narrow
In the middle of the highway,
And thus missed all of the pitfalls
That were hidden on the byway.
I did hit Ripley’s column, at
Urevealed time of my birth.
(Ripley gathered strange facts
From the far ends of the Earth).
I arrived the seventh member
Of my family you see. As
Seventh granddaughter of each grandma
I was deemed a rarity.
It was Sunday, seventh day of the week,
When I uttered my first cry,
And the seventh day of the month,
The year’s seventh month, July.
Mamma cut that column out
And kept it in the Bible’s pages.
She and Daddy often called me
Their little “Marvel of the Ages”.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011
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