Long Poem Topics

Check out these short poem topics. Find short poems by topic or form.

abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
allegory allusion
america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
april arabic
art assonance
aubade august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
beauty bereavement
best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boxing day
boy boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child child abuse
childhood children
chocolate christian
christmas cinco de mayo
cinderella city
class clothes
color columbus day
community computer
confidence conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad daffodils
dance dark
daughter day
death death of a friend
december dedication
deep depression
desire destiny
devotion discrimination
divorce dog
dream drink
drug earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
endurance engagement
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion fate
father father daughter
father son fathers day
fear february
feelings film
fire firework
first love fish
fishing flower
flying food
football for children
for her for him
for kids forgiveness
freedom french
friend friendship
fruit fun
funeral funny
funny love future
games garden
gender giggle
girl girlfriend
giving god
golf good friday
good morning good night
goodbye gospel
gothic graduate
graduation grandchild
granddaughter grandfather
grandmother grandparents
grandson grave
green grief
growing up growth
guitar hair
halloween happiness
happy happy birthday
hate health
heart heartbreak
heartbroken heaven
hello hero
high school hilarious
hindi hip hop
history hockey
holiday holocaust
home homework
hope horror
horse house
how i feel howl
humanity humor
humorous hurt
husband hyperbole
i am i love you
i miss you identity
image imagery
imagination immigration
independence day innocence
insect inspiration
inspirational integrity
international internet
introspection ireland
irony islamic
january jealousy
jesus jewish
jobs journey
joy judgement
july june
kid kindergarten
kiss language
leadership leaving
life light
little sister london
loneliness lonely
longing loss
lost lost love
love love hurts
lust lyric
magic malayalam
marathi march
marriage math
may me
meaningful memorial day
memory men
mental illness mentor
metaphor middle school
military miracle
mirror miss you
missing missing you
mom money
moon morning
mother mother daughter
mother son mothers day
motivation mountains
moving on mum
murder muse
music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new years day
new york nice
niece night
nonsense nostalgia
november nursery rhyme
obituary ocean
october old
onomatopoeia pain
paradise parents
paris parody
pashto passion
patriotic peace
people perspective
pets philosophy
places planet
poems poetess
poetry poets
political pollution
poverty power
prayer prejudice
preschool presidents day
pride princess
prison proposal
psychological purple
quinceanera race
racism rain
rainbow rainforest
rap raven
recovery from red
relationship religion
religious remember
remembrance day repetition
retirement riddle
rights river
romance romantic
rose roses are red
rude sad
sad love satire
scary school
science science fiction
sea seasons
self senses
sensual september
sexy sick
silence silly
silver simile
simple sin
sister sky
slam slavery
sleep smart
smile snow
soccer social
society softball
soldier solitude
sometimes son
song sorrow
sorry soulmate
sound space
spanish spiritual
spoken word sports
spring star
stars storm
strength stress
student success
suicide summer
sun sunset
sunshine surreal
sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher teachers day
technology teen
teenage thank you
thanks thanksgiving
thanksgiving day tiger
time today
together travel
tree tribute
true love trust
truth universe
uplifting urban
urdu usa
vacation valentines day
vanity veterans day
violence visionary
vogon voice
volleyball voyage
war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women word play
words work
world world war i
world war ii write
writing yellow

Long Grandparents Poems

Long Grandparents Poems. Below are the most popular long Grandparents by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grandparents poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Gil Garcia | Details |

The Lady Sung the Blues

faces sparkling,
wrinkles smiling,
memories at the ready.

Friends inter-mingling, while great grandchildren run through the gathering crowd.
Sun streaking through branches, warming joints, and turned up faces seeking the rare appearance of the coastal sun.

The growing color of gray cropped heads blot out the distant green scape as the band arrives one by one.
Blankets spread, picnic baskets, and bottles of wine appear.
Drummer man begins testing his skins, while the Blues Brother look-alike adjust his mic.
Bass guitar man plugs into his amps then makes a run through his vibrating strings.

memories at the ready.
Wrinkles smiling,
audience’s eyes glowing,
puppy dogs running as great grandchildren do cartwheels on the grass.

Almost ready, drummer warms up with a mixed run of sheep skin sounds.
Base man vibrates notes that rock nearby windows and flutter our wrinkled foreheads.

Pretty lady arrives on stage and is welcomed by the band like an old lost friend. She sets her music on a stand and adjust her mic downward.

Anticipation growing, memories at the ready.
Blues Brother laughing, making eyes at the pretty lady.

Puppy dogs running.
Little four year old boy in blue striped shirt plays his air guitar in front of base man who is smiling at the boy’s mimicking accuracy.

Snacks, blankets, and beer,
vibrations fill the air.

It begins _the pretty lady welcomes all.  She announces that we were about to experience a ride back to the sixties, and seventies.

They start _the rhythm of Muddy Waters fills the air.
As pretty lady sings the blues.

Old necks swaying and dancing, hands clapping, as wrinkles smile again.
Eyes connecting with strangers, family and friends.
Old couples grasping their loved-one’s hands _remembering when,
as the lady sings the blues.

Before you know it, it is over.
Good-bye hugs and handshakes.
Mamas and Papas gathering their now sleeping children.

Retired professionals, doctors, lawyers and old artisans with memories now awakened begin to leave, _some older, turn their heads downward, walking in tune with their walkers, and canes as their children help them back to parked cars in handicap zones.

Cars back out, but before moving on _ a few of the elder attendees turn their head back to the park to capture one more moment in time, as they gaze upon their dispersing long lost friends, who just shared a ride back to the sixties, and seventies; when the guitar man strummed, and the lady sung the blues.

Copyright © Gil Garcia | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Rhoda Monihan | Details |

Gods Fire

God’s Fire!

Most accidents are avoidable, 
I’m sure you would all agree, 
In modern society, high-tech, 
Where things are more robust.
All my relatives believed in, 
God, Jesus and the holy trinity, 
But since there is no god here, 
You just make him up, buck. 

The seventies saw older folks, 
Imply the incident was from god, 
When their rags fell of the line, 
Hanging in front of the open fire. 

It was a sacred communication, 
From god to the entire family, 
When grandmother only alone, 
Would come running to quell. 

Mother would put on her hat, 
Wear the spiritual cap, illuminate, 
Direct words from very god, dais, 
Spoken to her own mother, father. 

I got involved in this whole act, 
But quietly, with atheist respect, 
When I advised they be careful, 
With the clothes on the horse. 

I ignored evil eyes from mum, 
Joisted with dad who questioned, 
Rejected James, bounced away, 
And stubbed out lovely grandad. 

Then, they inquired into my fears, 
If I could cope with the situation, 
So I just retorted I was not saved, 
And so could cope with events. 

James went off his head, nuts, 
Dad hesitated, then roared shamed, 
Mum made gestures with her hands, 
Personality accusations she’d land. 

Fires in that old Stitchill house, 
Made me very angry and very sad, 
About Christianity’s standing, height,  
Which is just so very grand and tall. 

Every family is people-driven, 
If you make chat you’ll befriend, 
If you organise play you’ll attend, 
And if you’re careless you’ll harm. 

You can put god into the equation, 
Or leave him out, but family’s cell, 
Only, if you add him you’ll claim, 
Suffering probably as from him. 

Genetics means bodily conditions, 
Carelessness means injuries, burns,  
Random crashes, obviously no-one, 
And job loss is not your lateness. 

You live best when you specify, 
So yes, your MD came down, 
From your parents genetics given, 
Explanation stops there for kids. 

My parents hated what I’d said, 
To my grandmother to take care, 
So told them not to respect me, 
Not to do what I said, insane me. 

Then she denied saying that, 
Saying that I was insane, well, 
I then knew for real deviation, 
Lying, make fundamentalism. 

The lord didn’t start the fire, 
To test my grandmother out, 
Her domesticity and devotion, 
To her house, husband John. 

There is no god available, 
Who speaks when you allow, 
There’s only hurt for others, 
When you play with hot fire. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Sabina Nicole | Details |

Great Grandma Kicked some Butt

When my mother was at the age of thirteen,
A dirty old man asked her to come clean,
He invited her over so she could make a few bucks
When she arrived he was in a black tucks
He was the neighbor across the street,
His wife was at work and he viewed my mom as weak
This man locked the door when my mother arrived,
Went to go kiss her, to feed his sick drive,
My mom ran out the back door and went across the street,
Little did this man know he was in for a “delightful treat!”
My great grandma lived six towns away
My mother called her in a state of panic and disarray
A forty minute drive, granny made it in fifteen
Granny drove her old ford like a race car machine
When she arrived, she kicked that man’s door down
She did not care if anyone was around
That man jumped up by that loud sound
She hit him so hard he fell right on the ground
She slapped him around with her left shoe
Cursed him out in Italian, while threatening him too
Later that night my mother’s dad came home
He is a little man with a loud groan
He heard the story and went across the way
Took his shot gun and made this man pay
Told him if he ever touched his daughter again,
He would shoot off his little “private friend,”
He made this man cry in his own living room,
But I promise you this man never again tried to consume,
Every little girl on that street,
He knew not to look at or he would get severally beat,
My family has many stories of my Great Granny saving the day,
Never mess with an Italians family, they handle things in their own special way.

By:Sabina Nicole

      Every family has stories that get past down from one generation to the next. I was blessed to have had my mother’s grandparents until about 6 years ago. They did not speak any English and my great granny was a crazy awesome woman. She grew up on a farm in Italy and had to do a lot on her own. She raised all the children and grandchildren but was old school about a lot of stuff.  I remember my great grandparents fighting with each other even in the nursing home. They were married for 58 years; they shared a room in the nursing home that had two separate beds. My great grandma use to hit my great grandpa with her cane from across the bedroom. It was funny to watch.  They may have fought but they loved each other so much, my great grandma died 6 years ago and less than a year later my great grandpa died too. Now they are in heaven together, I don’t think there’s fighting in heaven, God don't allow that;)

Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2011

Long poem by curtis johnson | Details |

Life According To Me

Life According To Me

I have observed that some of the shortest lives contributed so much more than most. We all have known of many endowed with longevity, but were impoverished of legacy.

There are those who gave it all, with nothing taken to the grave but an empty corpse. Then there are those whose God given talents and gifts followed them to their grave.

Perhaps all would agree that marriage should not consummate where there is no love. But do we dare ask where marriage should stand, if love should cease to be in the marriage? Should we not recall that most marriages were entered into, not with love alone, but also with covenant?

Storms reek  havoc  to structures and  infra-structures, landscapes and human lives; But those same storms breath life to dry and thirsty lands, filling dams and reservoirs.
The sun shall rise in the East and set in the West,                                         and the world shall ever be under duress with some kind of test.
The winds and ocean waters shall sometimes connect and twist into hurricanes.
But prayers, hard work, and the will to survive will relieve the tears and the pains

Tyrants and wicked despots shall surface occasionally, but like in the past, they too shall pass. I stand with the God of the good, the tried, and the true; and have every reason to be hopeful.

I have always loved grandparents, beginning with my adored maternal grandmother.
In my lifetime, I have witnessed countless “Grands” among the unselfish and the brave. I can only imagine a world of total grief and chaos without grandparents.

I like the beauty and the unmatched presence of roses.                                     I hear their voices speaking calmness, love,  and peace.
But roses arrive with the beast of thorns, drawing blood.

A “No” consequence is often far less severe than a “Yes” one.
So it’s best to put our “Yeses” and “No’s” in their appropriates places

I think not that God has any use for molds.  But if he does, perhaps he threw them away after making each of us.  There is simply no one exactly like you, and there is a task and a purpose designed just for you.  Let’s dare to find pleasure in being like non other that ourselves, and be the ‘best me’ that any can be.
10282015 (contest)

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by PEDROS FERNANDES | Details |

Cerneja Kingdom And A Chirurgical Gift

My GRANDFATHER loved to work. His schedule from 3 am till 6 pm we were farmers
-we is a lot of people who's here?- He asks. 
-We Are.
With the scream of a Legendary fighter we all say "We Are" proudly looking at each other. The cows have a special meaning to WE, 
They were Nurture to be Healthy and Beautiful and were a Legendary Hobby after 6 meaning that they Shine, than won all trophy's for strength beauty and behaving. Cerneja was  an Imperatriz, temperamental, always ready to fight for her kingdom. Here comes the one of many risk-free situations in a natural site in the Vasdos the the Luso-Amazonia between 4 cows and dozens of Bovidae mammals, sheep and goats included, and with Cerneja out of control trying (have done before) to sacrifice an innocent well nurtured and less beautiful for Cer-kingdom standards and a solution. From HIS 2 meters of an well balanced body structure  holding a horn push and propelling with so much energy, Cer smash like a meteor to the floor over the farmers and Farmer and Animal kingdom stupefaction and our daze (the best,the Queen "Cerneja" almost a myth "and what about the empire-we thought". The kingdom always goes on.
Replaced Cer was sold for good money divided between the two owners (some animals like most of the land had more than one owner). The chirurgical eye of my HEART was so right and we were so wrong that Cer killed the unfortunate brand new owner and was given to the local slaughter house for THE FARMER unhappiness our dejection and all the WOMEN in the house joy In killing one of us instead one of others and Cerneja was evil- 

What stays is GULLIVER well tied to a chair by dwarves (in any pattern out of NBA tallest) while naptime warding off a fly and waking up smiling and feigning stretching the tight ropes 
-It's time to work 
Farmers pay back with the same coin to each other-WORK- And money comes from selling shared properties animals and milk. 
Sharing HERO type of stories always with coffee, good food and wine I was always involved in the exchange and legendary people are generally anonymous - in this particular that's not true for the heroism and courage stories but still will continue anonymous.  Thank You For the Kindness and Patience and I hope You continue to Produce Alike because What We Got, Get For Free We Give Back For Free, Right!
Right or Wrong?

Copyright © PEDROS FERNANDES | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by STANLEY Harris | Details |

River Orwell and a Poppy field

>River Orwell and a Poppy field
By Stanley Russell Harris
(The mad Author)

I went out with the wife today.
We walked by the River Orwell I say.
Tide was out, but breeze was swell.
Ensured there was no stinking town smell.

Grasses looked so green and fresh.
Honey bees were buzzing on the clover bless.
Gathering pollen, for their queen. 
Soon to be, in their hive seen.

Then we visited a poppy clad field.
Photos by the score, that field did yield.
Wife’s camera clicked away that day.
Must have been red hot I say. 

The poppies were like those of Flanders red.
You know those growing for our dead.
For our brave men, who died there and bled.
Who should have returned home alive instead. 

Now we bicker and do shout.
As GB from EU do want out.
Yet deep in that mud our kinfolk hide.
Red poppies now grow where they peacefully lie.

I hope our cries do not disturb them.
Our brave and gallant country men.
Who laid down their lives for you and me.
So we from chains could live free.

Was weird finding that field today.
Red poppies in the breeze did sway.
Reminded me of those days, of long ago,
when our brave men died in Flanders fields, so…

No more World Wars should we fight.
EU should now respect our rights.
As our ancestors won us the right,
to leave the EU free, if rules seem now not right.

Soon all countries in the EU will be free.
Of Brussels domination, just you see.
We might be the first country to break free.
But not the last, just wait and see. 

If not, then I am sad to say
EU will sadly fade away.
Remember you read it here today.
And now I’ll put pen and pad away.

As I remember those brave men I say,
and those fields of red poppies today.

It is no coincidence that on the 1st of July 2016  we will be remembering the action of those gallant men who's lives were sacrificed in those blood stained fields of The Battle of the Somme. July 1st to November18th 1916.The same fields  where those bright red poppies grow. You might see pictures of our poppies on my Facebook page if you so wish.  Although not a war poet, I would like to dedicate this poem to those gallant forefathers or ours. Many of course who still lie peacefully in Flanders fields. Stanley (The mad Author) PS This will be in Poems Book 10.< 

Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by MoonBee Canady | Details |

A Child's Training Part 2 of 2

(Prov. 22: 6 /  Heb. 5: 14  /  Deut. 6: 6-9  /  2 Tim. 3: 13-15, 16  /  Matt. 19: 13, 14)

- cont. - from Part 1

And The Same Can Be Said
Of A Young Child’s Impressionable Mind
It Needs To Be Nurtured At Home
Or It Will Eat Every Junk & Stuff They Find

And You Can’t Let A Child
Follow Its Every Whim …
No Matter How Brilliant or Smart
Dumb Things Will Make Them Dim

But Parents Try To Remember
Just When You Were Young …
Didn’t You Just Want To Act Stupid
And Have Some Friends & Fun?

Every Child Needs To Know
What & Who They Can Trust …
This Is More Important Than That Job
& Making Big Bucks

Every Child Needs Guidance
Even If Parents Are Just Guessing
But There Is A Book of Instructions
To Keep Parents & Child From Stressing
(2 Tim. 3: 15, 16)

It Is A Compass & A Map
& Its Like Reading A Diary of  Confessions
Where Both Parents & Children
Can Learn About Real Life Lessons
(Matt. 4: 4  /  Matt. 19: 13, 14)

And We Need To Start Training Them Young
From The Crib & From The Womb
Give ‘Em Plenty Space & Privacy
But Know What’s Going On In That Room!

‘Cause Newsflash! … Now Hear This
When Children Get Wrong Ideas or Tears
It’s Up To Loving Parents & Families
To Steer Them Free & Clear

Yes, Newsflash! … Now Know This
Children Don’t Know Nuthin’!
It’s Up To Responsible Adults
To ‘Try’ & Teach Them Somethin’ …

Their Bright Little Eyes & Minds
Are Looking To Us For Advice
And We Have To Watch Their Little Heads
So They Don’t Get Infected With Lice!

Yes, Their Bright Eyes & Minds
Are Looking To Us For Advice
& There Is Not Enough or Too Much Time
That We Could Sacrifice

And Without The Rod of Discipline
Whether Spanking or Time Out On The Floor
Loving Communication Is What Keeps Them
From Being Spoiled & Rotted To The Core

Look – Grandmamma Used  To Tell Me
“If Everybody Is Sticking Their Head In The Fire
And They Tell You It Won’t Hurt …
You Tell ‘Em ‘You’re A Liar!’”

Listen, We All Can See That This World
Is Going To You Know Where In A Hand-Basket
But You Don’t Have To Let Them Group You & Yours
Into That Casket …

And When A Child Wants To Eat Candy
‘Cause It Tastes Good – All Day Long!
When You Tell Them “No!”
Listen … You Ain’t Wrong!

                        Written & ©:  7/16/2013

                        By:  The MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Jenny Linsel | Details |

Granda's Tree House

I'm sitting in the garden
With my small son on my knee
He looks up at me with big brown eyes
And says “Tell me about Granda's tree”

My father planted a tree 
In nineteen forty two
He nurtured it and hadn’t bargained
On just how big it grew

When I was just seven years old
I had a love of climbing trees
Many times mum put plasters 
On my bloodied and skinned knees

I can remember one day
Wearing my new party dress
Peering in through the window
A grubby bedraggled mess

I’d climbed as high as I could go
Then heard a quite loud crack
The branch it snapped in two
And I landed on my back

I’d excelled myself on this occasion
You could say I’d gone the whole hog
I’d landed on a little offering
Left by next doors dog

I remember as a little girl
My father built me a house in the tree
A sturdy wooden house with windows
Especially for me

When I was in my tree house
I could be almost anywhere
In a tropical jungle
Or in a cave hiding from a grizzly bear

Hanging onto my rope ladder
With a plastic cutlass on my hip
I could be looking for buried treasure
My tree house a pirate ship

Underneath the carpet 
In the middle of the floor
My father had lovingly made me
A little brass-hinged trap door

Whenever I got fed up
Of being stuck inside
I’d open up that trap door
And go straight down the slide

Sometimes I would stand
For maybe half an hour
And pretend I was a princess
Imprisoned in an ivory tower

Some days I’d be a cowgirl
On a wild west ranch
And sometimes I’d pretend to be
A monkey swinging from a branch

One day I picked some flowers
And mum asked what they were for
I said “they are for my cottage
With roses around the door”

My son is looking wistful
Then he smiles at me
He says “mummy I would love
To see my Granda’s tree”

Tears come into my eyes
My son’s smile turns into a frown
I say “The tree's no longer there
The new owners chopped it down”

My son says it is sad
That the tree's no longer there
But no-one can destroy the memories
That my son and I share

Copyright © Jenny Linsel | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Jenny Linsel | Details |

Grandma's Pets

Grandma's Pets

My granda went away to sea
For many months on end
He'd travel on a fishing boat
With his brother and a friend

He used to write home regularly
And tell some quite tall tales
About being in a far-away place
When he was actually in Wales

Once they actually went to Africa
He wrote he was bringing Gran a pet
When he came home with a small cage
He'd brought her a marmoset

He opened up the cage
And up the curtains it did run
The curtains tore, granda laughed,
Grandma didn't think it fun

She said it had to go 
So to the pet shop Granda went
He returned without the Monkey
And to ‘Coventry’ he was sent

Granda apologised and said 
that he would compensate
Next day he bought Gran Tip,a cat
Bimbo, the budgie, feared its fate

He'd run up and down his ladder
And his cuttlefish he would gnaw
He took one look at Tip and thought
'I've not seen you before'

One day he pecked his bell so hard 
The clapper fell out onto the floor
No matter how much he pecked it
That bell would ring no more

Bimbo, I’d known since a little girl
He lived to a good age
I still remember that fateful day
I found him lifeless in his cage

Tip lived till he was seven
Many kittens he would father
Mrs Thomas would bang on the door
And get in a right lather

“Your Tip's been paying visits
To my precious tabby Pip.
If you don't keep him in
I'll see to it he has ‘the snip'”

After Tip came Ruff the dog
A cairn terrier with his papers
We would laugh so many times
At his little doggie capers

There were two unbuttered teacakes 
Sitting on a plate
Mum went to fetch the butter
She came back to an empty plate

Ruff was looking sheepish
Crumbs all around his chin
The cute expression on his furry face
I could swear it was a grin

We lost Ruff when he was eight
Poison in his canned dog food
If that had happened now
The manufacturer we'd have sued

Grandma put her foot down
And told Granda “No more pets”
She missed them all 
Well most of them
But not the marmoset

Copyright © Jenny Linsel | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Shanity Rain | Details |

Family Grief Family Happiness

   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John. 
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Long Poems