Details |
Michael Seeger Poem
A CHILD’S EASEL
We bought it used at an art store
And cleaned it with soap and water.
Then stood it on the living room floor:
A child’s easel for our daughter.
You would draw on it with a marker,
Or write messages we could read;
The letters were always starker
If there was an important need.
It straddled the dog’s kennel cage
Throughout seven years of growing,
Your knowledge we could always gauge
By the drawings you were showing.
We never wiped it’s white board clean
Of the creative things you drew,
All those years till you were thirteen;
That’s what a parent’s pride will do.
But now that you’re growing older
The easel stands alone and bare.
You’ve given it the cold shoulder
And quit drawing things to share.
Soon we’ll give it to someone new
Because now it’s mainly ignored,
So someone can write notes just like you,
And draw pictures on its board.
Copyright © Michael Seeger | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Michael Seeger Poem
DAD’S FAITH
At the end, there were too many days
And dust, not from his own plodding.
The warmer memories of his best days
In ways fell past; now there was nodding.
I’d heard of those with greater faith,
But had really nothing to compare;
Ill health had reduced him to a wraith,
Though he didn’t much seem to care.
Spring stood empty, but the sky held clouds,
So the cold rain came as no surprise.
He left us bereft, memory enshrouds;
I can still see the faith in his eyes.
Copyright © Michael Seeger | Year Posted 2015
|