Women's League Day Care Center
My early lessons taught,
Were delivered...
At the Women's League Day Care Center,
In Hartford, Connecticut.
I had to have been all of two,
Or maybe 3 years old...
When I first began the beginning,
Of an aware consciousness.
I though my mother was giving me away!
And I was quick to show everyone,
Within listening distance...
I didn't like it at all!
I remember Mrs. Hines!
And the wrought iron encased stairsteps,
To the dismal West Avon Street joint.
Right off of Main Street.
A stone's throw...
From Bellevue Square.
A tenement project,
I loved and hated equally.
OH!
I forgot.
This is a poem.
Not a Declaration of Independence.
Well,
Anyway...
The Women's League Daycare Center,
Was extremely significant in my growth process.
I didn't realize it,
Until I was well into my 20's...
What a gift, my sister Mimmie and I, were given.
Gee...
That was back in either 1949 or '50!
And Mim and her husband AL,
Are GRANDPARENTS.
You know...
My mother 'always' told us,
God works in mysterious ways.
And to this day,
I'd like to know...
How my niece, Shayla
And my nephew, Landry...
My sisters Tammy and Lisa,
Get to be...
So much 'older' than me?
Do we 'not' share the same genes?
OH!
This could go on and on.
I feel it!
Dedicated:
To the Women's League Day Care Center,
a name I knew it as for 'many' years.
Located in Hartford, Connecticut.
'Probably the first day care center established,
in the country. Who knows? I'm a writer/poet...
not an historian.
Although, I'm beginning to feel like a dinosaur.
A youthful one, I might add.'
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Why I Could Care Less' by Lawrence S. Pertillar
I grew up in the projects,
My sister and I.
I was the older...
And expected to be the protector,
Without excuses or alibis.
I had no one older to express my frustrations.
My mother was both my mom and dad then.
And my sister and I were latchkey children!
I grew up with an edge.
A bit of a chip on my shoulder!
I really didn't have a childhood...
I always felt quite older.
And throughout my life...
Witnessing those who whine about petty stuff.
I look back upon my life thanking God,
How I grew up.
I thank God for my parents...
And their struggles to maintain.
My sister Andrea who helped me remain sane!
The Women's League Day Care Center...
With their counselors who guided me on my way.
The residents of Bellevue Square...
To this day I may see a few from those 'golden days'.
And to those who take others for granted.
With demands their selfish whims be met...
If it had not been for them,
And their pointless greed and attitudes...
I probably would not express,
Why I could care less...
About them now being in distress and duress.
My mama taught me a few things about survival...
'What goes up comes down!
Folks who grin and smile...
Will someday show frowns.
Now go outside and try to be a child,
Like the other kids! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Do Not Seek Publicity
There are those who give,
With such positivity!
And with just one purpose...
To encourage others.
They do not seek publicity,
For their good deeds.
Nor do they anticipate in waiting,
For those they assist to express appreciation.
They are here to give!
With the service to others,
They do so well.
And those blessings they receive.
Dedicated to:
Andrea Dixon...Springfield, Mass.
Shayla Dixon...Springfield, Mass.
Leola McCrory...Windsor, Connecticut
Edna Vinters...Bloomfield, Connecticut
Sandra Lindsay...Hartford, Connecticut
Virginia Pertillar...Hartford, Conencticut
'Okay! Okay...so I am biased.
They just happen to be,
Some of the most dynamic women...
I am blessed to know.
Is my smile too broad that it doesn't show? '
So proud am I.
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You See...There Was Just Too Many Of Us!
I smell my grandmother's molasses cookies.
Deep dish apple and peach pies.
And grape preserves she would make.
And my own mother's beautiful hair,
Before she grayed.
And 'overnight'...
Seemed to have aged.
As I sit and reminisce.
About so many things I miss!
I see my grandfather,
Working in the backyard.
In the shed.
Where he 'diagnosed' the engine...
Of an old truck.
With every part of it laid in pieces.
Each of them,
Carefully spread to keep them near.
'Don't...
Move,
A thing!
Or pick it up...
Because you're curious!
I got my eye on ya! '
I hear my father say...
'It is time to get your haircut, boy.
And when you sit in that barber's chair...
You bet not make a fuss!
And don't say nothing to annoy! '
I remember my aunts and uncles...
Rushing to pick apples, grapes and pears.
From an old pig farm,
Where Chappelle Gardens now sits.
In a neighborhood in Hartford, Connecticut.
I remember this as if yesterday!
And the whippings we all shared.
Regardless...
Of who or who was not actually there!
No one was spared.
'I don't care who did what!
All of you are getting it! '
My grandmother would say!
I remember rolling my eyes...
With wishes I could run away!
~Grandma, I didn't do anything.
It was her! ~
*No it wasn't it was him! *
**No it wasn't it was them! **
You see...
There was just too many of us!
And my grandmother didn't really care.
She just wanted all of us to know...
The punishment she dealt,
Would be quick.
Honest.
And fair!
Note:
Dedicated to my wonderful family.
When we (many of us) all lived in either Stowe Village,
And/or Bellevue Square.
Tenement projects.
In separate buildings AND apartments.
Back in 'the day'.
Love you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sugar Plummed By Fairyisms
Hmmm...
Do I care that my comments may be offensive,
To those who may be of slow apprehension?
I've been called crude and rude and heartless,
By some.
Brilliant by others.
And stupid and dumb...
By those who qualify themselves,
As loved ones.
But...
Do I 'care' that my comments may be offensive?
That depends if I am in a forgiving mood to forget.
Since the recalling of my 'anguish' goes totally misunderstood,
By those whose lives have been fantasized...
And 'sugar plummed' by fairyisms.
I grew up in a tenement project.
A place we called the 'brickyard'.
But officially named Bellevue Square.
An experiment of sorts,
For those poor and Black!
Living in Hartford, Connecticut.
But I do the best I can,
To provide an accurate assessment of my outlook.
From my experiences and point of view.
Even though it is difficult to sweeten,
Those lingering memories.
Hmmm...
Do I care that my comments may be offensive?
Oh yes.
Especially when I become victimized,
Listening to them repeated...
And,
Coming from the mouths of those who believe I stay angry.
And I'm only angry on Tuesdays between 2: 30pm and five.
And on most Thursdays anytime before noon.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There Goes My Baby
I use to find myself staring at her.
She was so very beautiful,
My mother.
'Boy, why are you staring at me? '
~Ma, you are so pretty! ~
'Okay, what do you want?
I don't have any more money,
For you to buy another 45.'
I use to 'stay' in Roz Records.
It was a music store,
Not far from our apartment in Bellevue Square.
On Canton Street.
In Hartford, Connecticut.
I remember my first 45...
'There Goes My Baby'
By the Drifters!
I would play it 'all' the time.
~Ma, you so pretty! ~
'Boy, you better get out of my face.
And go play with the other kids in the playground.'
I did it!
Like a chore.
Children bored me back then!
They were so...'childish'.
And I was born a grown man.
I was!
But that's a different story.
I think most boys become infatuated,
With their mothers first.
Giving wives competition they did not expect.
And most men who had been mama's boys...
Usually divorce.
To be left on missions,
To find someone to spoil them!
I know.
I've been married twice.
To do that 'thrice'
Would be absolutely foolish.
'Huh...ma? '
Dedicated:
In loving memory to my mother,
Edna Roberts-Prudhomme Pertillar
'Miss you, ma! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Heffa
'Don't let me chase you...
Heffa! '
My mother would say this,
Before she did my sister's hair.
And I would sit in a chair...
To watch my sister.
And she would cry and I would stare.
'What you looking at? '
My sister Mimmie would say!
I'm looking at you!
What you gonna do?
'You kids better not start nothing with me.
Hold your head still, girl!
And don't you say another word, Larry! '
I would think to myself...
'Is Mimmie a 'heffa' when she gets her hair done?
Why when I called her that...
She would chase me,
And I would run?
Then my mother would say,
'Would you kids stop that!
Both of you get on my last nerve.
Stop that fighting crap.'
Ma, what is a 'heffa'?
And why is Mimmie one?
Is it the way she looks...
When her hair is undone?
If I called her that,
She wants to fight with me.
Daddy don't call her a heffa.
Why do you...
Exclusively?
My mother would look at me,
As if I was crazed.
I could tell in her eyes,
She was trying for 'something' to say!
I never heard my mother curse.
She didn't have to back then.
But I grew to understand...
'Heffa' was a word,
Black women shared between them!
And my sister Mimmie...
Thought she needed to keep me in 'check'!
And 'if' I didn't leave her alone...
A grown man I would never become or get!
I grew up in a family of very strong willed 'heffuhs'!
Dedicated to:
Those women in my family whom I love dearly.
And I have learned what they say to each other,
And amongst themselves...
Is between them as women!
And they have provided me with 'much' wisdom!
I know now...
What is said 'endearingly' between them,
Is not for a man to repeat!
Even though they can say what they wish,
About us!
'Right, fellas'?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not In The Next Few Chapters
I remember how 'old' people seemed,
When they were in their twenties.
And I was then a child...
With a wish to be a teenager.
And I remember walking on my toes,
Wanting to be taller than I was.
Or at least keep up with my father,
Whenever he walked to the neighborhood store.
And I'd walk behind him,
Thinking he was a giant.
And when I then became thirteen,
And my sister Mimmie was still eleven...
I got very bossy.
We were both 'latchkey' kids and...
Well,
I was grown...
I thought.
And I made sure she did things around our apartment,
I just was too 'grown' to do.
Like sweep the floors while I looked at TV.
She hated me.
I didn't care.
I remember being eighteen and being called a 'rainbow',
As the rest of the enlisted boy/men stood at attention...
After arriving at Lackland Air Force Base,
In San Antonio, Texas.
We were called 'rainbow'
Because we were still in our 'civilian' clothes...
And instantly demeaned.
That was their way of making sure we understood,
We were in the military and mom and daddy weren't around.
We were guaranteed to be made full fledged men.
Thirty came in a hurry.
And I had already been divorced and remarried.
And that was in 1977.
I don't know 'why' I didn't like my 40's!
Maybe because they came and went too quickly.
And I was 'still' passing for the age of twenty-five.
That didn't last too long.
In 1987 I got a phone call from my mother,
Telling me my dad was ill and she was concerned.
So as the eldest and only son,
I thought I would leave San Antonio, Texas...
Where I made my home then,
And make a quick weekend trip back to Hartford, Connecticut.
Well...
One very long weekend later,
It is now close to 2011.
My 40's and 50's were a blur.
And today at 63...
With both my parents deceased,
I am just NOW able to say,
I can enjoy every moment of my life consciously.
And feeling a whole lot younger than I look.
I know this may sound crazy, but...
I've got to relive something that I've missed,
Between my 40's and 50's I can remember...
Other than my parents passing away,
And my getting a divorce.
That was number two.
And...
With God's blessing,
I 'hope' not to do a number three.
Not in the next 'few' chapters I hope to write!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Less Eccentric But Thoughtfully Provocative
Remembering those first decisions,
I had made for myself...
I can now admit to feeling awkward then.
I had no elder sibling to follow.
I was the oldest child in my clan.
And I noticed with me several experiments began.
I was expected to 'know' before I knew a thing.
I was expected to 'grow'...
To show my sister, Mimmie 'everything'.
And she knew she got the short end of the stick.
'You don't know what your're doing!
Do you? '
~Shut up! I'm two years older than you...
LITTLE girl.~
She hated me for that.
And I didn't care.
I hated we both were in that trap!
Of that I was young and too aware.
I made many mistakes!
I didn't know what I was doing.
The first born of a crew,
Is often blamed for what the other kids do!
And when I knew this was going to be my fate,
I flew!
Or I thought I could...
By taking a swan drive from the nest!
I had just turned 18...
When I joined the military.
Never again to say I was bored to death.
It took me years to land on my feet.
Since I kept knocking my head,
Against many tests I objected to in protest.
Remembering those first decisions,
I had made for myself...
I can now admit to feeling awkward then.
I had no elder sibling to follow.
I was the oldest child in my clan.
And I noticed with me several experiments began.
Even to this day I look for ways,
To be daring and more outrageous.
Although I like to perceive my actions to be,
Less eccentric but thoughtfully provocative!
And proud to say I am courageous.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Three Sisters
I have three sisters.
Each I adore.
With seperate aggressions,
Too tiring to explore.
Dynamic they are.
With a creative genius.
Brilliant and humorous...
They truly represent Venus.
Me?
I am Mars.
I know I am 'out there'.
My dad was too!
But his attention,
Was on them like glue.
And 'stuck' he was.
Like a bee caught in a jar.
To be dehoneyed!
Especially the younger two.
Who got him to do anything.
And this I observed...
When learning how women can 'sting'.
Especially when expectations,
Were limiting.
Sometimes my mom and I,
Would look at each other and smile.
She knew too well I was an outsider.
When my sisters decided,
To inflict their 'styles'.
And each of them were respectfully different.
I have three sisters.
Each I adore.
With seperate aggressions,
Too tiring to explore.
And if I had a brother,
I know he'd run away.
Since I tried that myself.
But I am hooked to their 'allure'.
And that's how it has been,
To this very day.
I have three sisters,
Very wise...
And quick with wit.
So proud I am they are who they are.
I have no choice.
Since I'm sure they wouldn't have it,
Any other way.
'Women!
To love them is to...
Well,
Love them.'
Dedicated to:
Mimmie 'D', Tammy and Lisa
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Close God Will Stay
'Be not less...
But more with your wishes.
God is listening to you.
And 'all' that you desire
Will come true!
It will...for you!
Don't despair.
God is protecting you.
And all of His 'Angels' are aware
Of what you are going through!
You are one of 'us' they say!
Keep your faith strong.
God knows where your heart belongs!
Each and every day!
Close God will stay.
If you pray,
It is kept that way! '
Dedicated and inspired by:
Frances J. McAlpine Sharp
Educator/Performing Artist
And...mother of three ('LOL')
Hartford, Connecticut
'Frances...
Once again, I have been 'touched' to send
a 'message' directly to you! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Child In A Man
Testosterone muscled men have,
The Top and the center, the caves,
Something is there to do the basic,
Nothing is there to think angelic,
Given the work, they do sincerely,
As the kids in the play school aviary,
The children long to be praised,
The children need to be reminded,
The children want to be around,
The loving hearts that care,
In each and every man, there is a child,
That long for the love of a mother,
When the women identify that child,
They have the responsible man in the household,
When the women take good care of that child,
They have the obedient handyman in the household.
When the women try to be funny with that child
The child will be the runaway kid,
Likes to play truant, shows the authority,
Displays tantrums and becomes juvenile delinquent.
Identify and rear that child efficiently..
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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1647
They were burned.
Long before the Salem ones.
In Hartford, Connecticut,
This was done.
It was told to everyone,
That they were evil.
And in 1647...
They were burned at the stake.
But their souls went to heaven.
And somehow this crime,
Has not lifted from those...
Who refuse to raise their unconscious minds.
And left behind the times,
Are those confined...
In beliefs a depiction of wickedness,
Sits within those who oppose
Such medieval controlling of thinking minds,
Still beset with religious practices...
And keeping themselves,
Enclosed in lost times.
Enforced to keep...
Themselves in divisions as all weep!
As this 'cloud' surrounds their growth,
And creeps!
Deep in the bosoms,
Of their restless ancestors.
NOTE:
Although it has never been proven that witches
were actually burned first in Hartford, prior to those
claimed to be so and burned in Salem, Massachusetts...
It has been revealed that this possibility did, in fact occur.
According to The Witchcraft Delusion in Colonial Connecticut
(1647-1697) as authored by John M. Taylor (John Metcalf) ,1845-1918.
And published by Project Gutenberg.
He states:
FOREWORD The true story of witchcraft in old Connecticut has never been told. It has been hidden in the ancient records and in manuscripts in private collections, and those most conversant with the facts have not made them known, for one reason or another. It is herein written from authoritative sources, and should prove of interest and value as a present-day interpretation of that strange delusion, which for a half century darkened the lives of the forefathers and foremothers of the colonial days. J.M.T. Hartford, Connecticut.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Women's Liberation
Talk to me about the feminist movement,
the gubba middle class
hetero sexual revolution
way back in the seventies
when men wore tweed jackets with
leather elbows, and the women, well
I don’t remember or maybe I just don’t care
or can’t relate.
Now what were those white women on about?
What type of neurosis was fashionable back then?
So maybe I was only a school kid; and kids, like women,
have got on thing that joins that schemata,
like we’re not worth listening to,
and who wants to liberate women and children
what will happen in an egalitarian society
if the women and the kids start becoming complacent
in that they believe they should have rights
and economic independence,
and what would these middle class kids and white women do
with liberation, with freedom, with choices of
do I stay with my man, do I fall in love with other
white middle class women, and it wouldn’t matter if
my new woman had kids or maybe even kids and dogs
Yes I’m for the women’s movement
I want to be free and wear dunlop tennis shoes.
And indigenous women, well surely, the liberation
of white women includes all women regardless . . .
It doesn’t, well that’s not for me to deal with
I mean how could I, a white middle class woman,
who is deciding how can I budget when my man won’t
pay the school fees and the diner’s card club simply
won’t extend credit.
I don’t even know if I’m capable
of understanding
Aborigines, in Victoria?
Aboriginal women, here, I’ve never seen one,
and if I did, what would I say,
damned if I’m going to feel guilty, for wanting something
better for me, for women in general, not just white
middle class Volvo driving, part time women’s studies
students
Maybe I didn’t think, maybe I thought women in general
meant, Aboriginal women, the Koori women in Victoria
Should I apologise
should I feel guilty
Maybe the solution is to sponsor
a child through world vision.
Yes that’s probably best,
I feel like I could cope with that,
Look, I’d like to do something for our Aborigines
but I haven’t even met one,
and if I did I would say
all this business about land rights, maybe I’m a bit
scared, what’s it mean, that some day I’ll wake up
and there will be this flag, what is it, you know
red, black and that yellow circle, staked out front
and then what, Okay I’m sorry, I feel guilt
is that what I should be shouting
from the top of the rialto building
The women’s movement saved me
maybe the 90s will be different.
I’m not sure what I mean, but I know that although
it’s not just a women’s liberation that will free us
it’s a beginning
poem by Lisa Bellear
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Our Paranoia
the uncured disease of mankind had always been
that the earth is the center of the universe
that man is at the center of all these
that he is loved by the skies and the seas and the mountains
that i am the center of your attraction
or that i have loved you truly too
these are the demands of illusions
the sun is just one of the thousand stars
though it may be true that it is the center of our universe
that you may have loved me truly and i may think that i am the only
star in your universe
how hopeless can i be thinking that way
when the truth is just i am just a dust, a speck of this vast space of dusts
one night i stand in the middle of the grass and looked at the stars
i feel so far and so tiny just like Venus that planet that glitters in the north.
human love is as small as a grain of sand, yet somehow we imagine that
as a Saturn in the planetary system.
i am not saying the truth that indeed we are nothing but an empty sigh.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Pray for you Mother Earth
I pray for you Mother Earth right down to your center core,
I will fill your heart with light pink to know that you are loved,
From all the living creatures from up above
Yes, we all need to hold hands and send love your way
We pray for you each and every day.
Yes, we all pray for you that you feel our love,
We know you have the power to make hurricanes, tsunamis,
tornadoes
I hope you hear our prayers right down to your soul
And it makes you happy that we all love you…
And appreciate the world you have given us,
We are grateful and I hope you can trust that we
Will take care from above as well as below,
For we pray for you right down to the center core.
Copyright August 8,2010 Sue Chevalier
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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I can help a lot of other people who've gone through the same thing by building a center that will help men and women who don't have the funds to take care of themselves and get the medical treatment.
quote by David Gest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Stones Throw Away
Did I feel this way back then?
Did you wake up to the sound of pouring rain?
Fading days of blue rush past your eyes
Would you lose yourself in someone elses vain?
Or should you shout your mind out when the loss began?
High until you washed away
Its all the same
I realized it through this song
I sing out loud and call your name
Do you feel Im only someone you could never ever know?
In it all youll find, you see youre not that far from me
So walk and hold your head up high
A stones throw away
I feel right now like I felt way back then
The center of my life I lost it all
Never ever knew how much Id loved until you left, youre gone
Fell right now like I was chasing you the same way
High until you washed away
Its all the same
I realized it through this song
Sing out loud and call your name
Do you feel the only someone you could never ever know?
In it all you find, you see youre not that far from me
To walk and hold your head up high
A stones throw away
I would like this stone to roll
High until I washed it all away
Its all the same
I realized it through this song
Sing out loud and call my name
Do you feel the only someone you could never ever know
In it all you find
You see youre not that far from me to walk and hold your head up high
A stones throw away
Youre just a stones throw away
Never knew how much Id loved until youre gone
Never knew how much Id love
Until youre gone away
Feel right now like I felt way back then
The center of my life I lost it, lost it all
Never knew how much Id loved until youre gone
Never knew how much Id loved until youre gone away
A stones throw away
song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How It Feels to be 61
I was asked how it feels to be 61?
As if I was an exhibit.
Lost...
And finding my way back to a museum.
I didn't know whether to say I still felt like a human being.
Nothing about that has changed!
Was I being made to feel paranoid?
How could I avoid that 'look' if it was seen?
'I feel great!
I have never been this age before.
So the experience is new to me.
I can better respond to that,
When I turn 62! '
Sixty-two? SIXTY-TWO? ? ?
Seriously.
I never think of aging until someone brings it up.
When I am with my nephew and niece and their children,
We all have a lot of fun.
Now my brother-in-law and sister see them more than I do.
Maybe that is the reason they are less hesitant,
To jump around and giggle with them.
AL and my sister Mim look as if they have giggled out!
With expressions that beg for vacations.
I tell them all the time just how blessed they are!
'Yeah, we're smothered in our fortunes! '
I can just imagine!
Ahhh...to be 61!
God knows what He is doing.
Because I know if I had children...
They way these children are today?
I'd be sitting up in a prison.
Or strait jacketed in a pad locked cell!
I was extremely sad when my son Michael passed.
Many years ago!
But I can say I am rather glad...
Mimmie and AL had the task,
Of raising some wonderful children!
'Yes...
We are so blessed.
Aren't we AL? '
My sister Mimmie gives these looks,
That are so very funny!
I can look at them all and leave!
That's how it feels to be 61!
Kiss them all and leave with them my love.
And take some with me.
To a place where I have quiet and peace.
'Thank you, God! '
I was asked how it feels to be 61?
As if I was an exhibit.
Lost...
And finding my way back to a museum.
I didn't know whether to say I still felt like a human being.
Nothing about that has changed!
Was I being made to feel paranoid?
How could I avoid that 'look' if it was seen?
'How do I feel?
Great.
I had a wonderful workout with my great niece Kamara...
And my great nephew, Kevin...her brother!
I feel wonderful.
I go for my next workout sometime next month!
But I will take twice that time to rest...
In the quietness of my home! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Matter How Long It Takes!
There is something about the 'not' caring,
That makes the more of it done.
When I hear someone say,
They could care less...
I know they care too much!
Usually that statement is made
By someone who wants to declare
A caring that had been there...
Is gone!
How wrong!
I remember in my 'last' relationship...
Which seems many years ago!
Well...
It was many years ago,
But that is not my point I wish to make!
I was told, 'I don't care about you.
Where you go or what you do! '
Of course,
I knew then that this was some kind of ploy.
To get me seduced to a manipulation of sorts!
Well...
That person left!
Believing I didn't think they really care.
I know they do!
And I have been waiting for an apology!
I am patient like that.
No matter how long it takes!
So if it has been thirty years?
I can be just as stubborn!
They will eventually realize the 'error' of their ways.
And I?
Well...
I do pride myself on having incredible patience.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Pray for you Mother Earth
I pray for you Mother Earth right down to your center core,
I will fill your heart with light pink to know that you are loved,
From all the living creatures from up above
Yes, we all need to hold hands and send love your way
We pray for you each and every day.
Yes, we all pray for you that you feel our love,
We know you have the power to make hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes
I hope you hear our prayers right down to your soul
And it makes you happy that we all love you…
And appreciate the world you have given us,
We are grateful and I hope you can trust that we
Will take care from above as well as below,
For we pray for you right down to the center core.
Copyright August 8,2010 Suzae Chevalier
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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