8.31.10

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Mother's Watch

Mother's Watch
by Andrea Hill


I sit beside you, Mom
On death's doorstep you lay
I set my head upon your wrist
As I bow my head to pray

The world to me shut off
The silence here is thick
Alone just you and I
And your watch's rhythmic tick

I block out all my pain
And loss I'm sure to feel
I concentrate now deeply
On the tick your watch reveals

I sit here now for days
And hear the rhythmic sound
I contemplate you being gone
The thought now seems profound

The time for you is near
To enter Heaven's Gate
I'll stay here by your side
Until your journey is complete

It's months now since you've passed
My wounds are healing slow
I want so much to hear your voice
To see your smile's glow

I lay my head upon my wrist
When my feelings are too strong
I hear your watch's rhythmic tick
And know you're never gone

The Catalog ...

Found this in a reprint of a 1908 Sears catalog – isn’t it amazing how the words – for a catalog – back in 1971 (when the reprint was published) – are so appropriate for today’s Internet!
The author chose to do it entirely in lower case, so that’s the way I typed it … enjoy!

the catalog

i know the markets of the earth and
wonderous tales i tell
of all the new and pretty things the
whole world has to sell
and those who sit with me awhile and
roam my pages through
may see the pageants of mankind set
out in open view.

i know the realms of happiness
for little girls and boys
i swing the gates which lead into the
magic land of toys.
i am the window of the world at which
is kept displayed
the best of everything men do:
the best of all they’ve made.

oh, whether it be north or south
or distant east or west
i show the dwelling beautiful and
fashion at its best.
i am a thousand shops in one; gay stall and quaint bazaar,
the glamour that is paris and the
charm of zanzibar.

they know me as a catalog and yet on
lonely night
i bring them dreams and fancies and
a wealth of real delights.
for often when the day is done and
duty’s flags are furled
i take the family shopping round the
markets of the world.

—Edgar A. Guest