Michael's Mom

A Girl... just a child, a young boy... not quite a man.
Holding hands in marriage, so it all began.

On hearing the news, the town was aghast;
shaking their heads said, "It can't last".

"A boy make a living!" and "She can't cook".
"No, can't last", they said with a knowing look.

But a living he made, working hard and long.
And cooking golden rod eggs for her was a song.

That's all she could cook, for sure I know,
But she got better and better, now she steals the show.

A year and nine days go flying by.
Then the Lord smiled down from the sky.

Their first child, he gave, a son you see,
With golden curls and a nature sweet as could be.

So the years went by, became troubled and sad,
Money... there was none, for times were bad.

By cutting wood and being handy with a gun,
He kept them together: Father, Mother and Son.

Time goes on. And again the Lord smiles, or so it seems,
This time a little baby girl makes the scene.

She was small and quick, with hair white as snow.
Not sweet as big brother but mischievous, as you might know.

"Our family is right", said Mother and Dad
and happy they were with the blessings they had.

Not sure a blessing would the little one be,
They said with a smile, "Why, Lord, put this one on me?"

The son, now a man, decides his life he'll live,
In service to his Country, and his best he'd give.

Dancing through life goes little one, in her fun loving way,
As her love of life and family grows with her each day.

The son takes a wife, gentle and sweet was she.
Then came a son-in-law, so good and handsome to see.

But as destiny rules, so their lives would be,
Short-lived and beautiful, like the blossom of an apple tree.

And when as the apple blossom, never more to be.
Each left a fruit, as they fell from this tree.

Now, there are two grandsons with whom they could play.
They loved them more with each passing day.

But of their first, they were heard to say.
"Please, not like his Mother, Dear Lord, I Pray".

Now they are young men, their rolls soon to be,
To start new life, for this beautiful tree.

This tree couldn't live, to many it seemed,
And of this happy day, they couldn't have dreamed.

For fifty years ago, with love -- this tree began.
And Mom & Poppie still go hand in hand.

I'm a part of this tree, I'm sure you can see,
Yes, I was the one, mean as could be.

So for our tree, my thanks, Dear Lord, to you
and May My Love for it show in all I do.

There is only one poem here, Mom thinks this is the only one she ever wrote. She wrote it for my Grandparent's Fifty Wedding Anniversary.