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Frances Stoneham Poem
God does giveth
And He does taketh away
But my dearest, darling children
My tears I do shed everyday
I don't know why He chose you
I only know my heart does pain
My dearest son and daughter
How I wish to see you again
Your parting was so swift
There was no time for goodbye
God donned you with your Angel-wings
And to Heaven you did fly
I am sure if God really knew
How empty my heart would be
He in His infinite wisdom
Instead would have taken me
But I remain here on Earth
The reason I don't understand
I only wish for Heaven to go
So again I can hold your hands
My dearest, darlings
I am missing both of you so
I carry you safely in my heart
Whatever path I go
I know you look down from Heaven
Guiding each step I take
But how I would trade my time
For one more look of you face
There is nothing than can measure
The love you gave to me
My darlings how I miss you
My Bill, and Kym Therese
Frances! Stoneham
Copyright © Frances Stoneham | Year Posted 2007
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Frances Stoneham Poem
Mirror, mirror you are either friend or foe
There is no middle of the road for you
Your bluntness of the truth you perceive
Can be so cruel and even demoralizing
It can leave one afraid to face the world
Take away confidence
And can be the destruction
Of what could have blossomed into a good day
Your unkindness annihilates the onlooker
He retreats, wishing to start over again
Oh! but you have a much kinder side
One that leaves the onlooker
Feeling that they have cheated time
Not cheated in a sense that it is a crime
But rather a victory
A cunningness that outsmarts the Enemy
Reflecting beauty and poise
And a happiness that glows from deep within
From the truth you have revealed
The victorious will have a good day!
Frances! Stoneham
Copyright © Frances Stoneham | Year Posted 2007
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Details |
Frances Stoneham Poem
words fail to conceive in an eager, eager heart
a twisted labyrinth of puzzled paths
never the twain to gainfully meet
beginning or end never to gleefully greet
a writer's most dreaded curse
he sits and fretfully fears the worst
in mind's eye he is to fail
finding no truths to prevail
no promise of fantsy to mend
no mindful, new words does he find to blend
just a stark, blank, empty page
the cast all gone, a deserted stage
there is but one who remains
he who holds the pen in vain
morning has come, dawn has crept in
and not one word was spoken to him
Copyright © Frances Stoneham | Year Posted 2007
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