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Long Lost Poetry- Part 3

Brenda Thornlow is an author, animal advocate, & certified Reiki Master from NY. Her books can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, & iTunes.

long-lost-poetry-part-3

Little One

Her face, like an angel, is so fair.

So sweet as she has never a care.

Her smile like the sunshine on a summer day, her laugh sounds like the birds at play.

Her eyes as blue as the blue of the sky, her hair like a soft cloud floating by.

A heart so generous so full of good, to hurt anyone or anything, she never could.

Oh, bring her back someday to me and from all care and trouble let her be free.

Prevent that smile from ever leaving her dear face.

Of grief and sorrow, never let there be a trace.

Return her the same as she left me, I ask the Father let this, my prayer, so be.


long-lost-poetry-part-3

Picking Weeds

If we walked in a field where weeds grew but the wild flowers grew there, too,

we would pick the flowers and leave the weeds, I know that and so do you.

But when it comes to people with faults and good, too, we often pick out the faults, this is true.

So, when talking of people say the best in everyone and you will rejoice when the day is done.


long-lost-poetry-part-3

He Was a Human

He walked down the road in the fading light wondering where he could sleep that night.

All that he had was in his hand, just a bundle was all he possessed in the land.

No home, no friends, no place to go.

No shelter from winters cold and snow.

No smiles to greet at a journeys end and nothing in the world, not even a friend.

His thoughts went back to another day when round the old home he used to play.

Of Mother and Dad, how nice it was then, he’d give the world to be back there again.

But Mother and Dad had long passed beyond and things were different After they were gone.

So he looked to the east and he look to the west, wondering which road would be the best.

Just a bum without no home from place to place he must roam.

No kind words, no one to care, he had slept in barns and just anywhere.

He turned down a road, it matters not which one, they found him at dawn and said, “just a bum.”


***All poems were written by Minnie Louise Bumphrey of Kewanee, Illinois.***

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