Best Historychildren Poems
The seventh day of week and month
in seventh month of the year,
number seven dominated
when I decided to appear.
I was seventh in my family,
five brothers, Mother and Dad,
also the seventh granddaughter
each of my grandmas had.
When later, two more children came,
I then was one of seven;
unless you count the baby
who went right straight to Heaven.
My seventh nephew came along,
you guessed it, on my birthday.
Seventh day of seventh month
and seventh in his family.
He was one of seven children raised
in his family and then
he became a Professor of Economics
and a US Congressman.
In nineteen forty one I wed
in the seventh month of the same year
that a seventh of December strike
filled our young hearts with fear.
We'd been married twenty-one years,
a multiple of seven,
when God decided to take home
loved husband He had given.
He died the 4th of seventh month;
was buried on seventh day,
the anniversary of my birth.
It was a sad birthday.
He didn't live to see the seven
grandchildren who are mine.
He'd be amused to know how sevens
are still keeping me in line.
My niece's seventh grandchild came
in two thousand and one;
born on my birthday, seven-seven.
Number seven is not done.
I've had my share of ups and downs,
perhaps my seven's power
alternates from good to bad
and changes every hour.
I'm tryin to keep track of all
the sevens that I own.
Perhaps I'll die on one, if so
please mark it on my stone.
Magical Mystical Numbers contest sponsored by Deborah Guzzi 5th place
You pack up your dreams in a four-by-ten wagon,
It looks like a ship with a sail,
Your neighbors in old Pennsylvania are waving
Farewell…by the side of the trail.
You tell ev’rybody “There’s land up in Oregon,
You’ll find you a farm that don’t fail,
You’ll stop with your children each evening for supper,
And cook by the side of the trail.
But out in Nebraska there’s late falling snow into April,
You wake up one morning…the frostbite took three of your toes;
Your children are sleeping so sweetly and so sadly so peaceful…
They’ll sleep there together long after the wagon train goes.
You’ll raise some new children when you’re up in Oregon,
And you and your wife will prevail,
But some nights you’ll dream of those little wood crosses
Back there…by the side of the road.