DEAR VISITORS: YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE GYMNASTICS I PERFORM IN ORDER TO RE-PUBLISH A SERIES OF POSTS. AT 92 THE TEXT IS A BLUR, AND I MUST PRACTICALLY STAND ON NY HEAD AS I HOLD A LARGE MAGNIfYING GLASS UP TO THE SCREEN. THIS MANEUVER REQUIRES ME TO STAND UP FROM MY DESK CHAIR IN THE ATTEMPT TO SEE WHAT I'M WRITING WITH MY FAULTY VISION.
UPDATE: SURGERY CORRECTED VISION IN MY ONE GOOD EYE.
WHAT KEEPS ME GOING? THIS BLOG AND ITS VISITORS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD. THEY ARE NOT BIG ON MAKING COMMENTS, BUT THEIR PRESENCE IS COMMENT ENOUGH. POEM BY MY MOM, ERNESTINE COBERN BEYER. YOU WILL FIND HER BIOGRAPHY IN WIKIPEDIA. bbm
Ernestine Cobern Beyer
UPDATE: SURGERY CORRECTED VISION IN MY ONE GOOD EYE.
A Desperate Ode to Snow
Bees
and buds and birds inspire
Arpeggios
on my lyric lyre;
But
snow, so pure, so fair to see,
Strikes
no responsive chord in me!
No!
My
heart's a sentimental thing
That
simply loves to think of spring,
But
snow and slush just rust its string.
It
doesn't give a single ping
For
snow!
Yet
if I sing of spring in winter
Surely
I'd confuse the printer!
Thus
my cheerful lyre begins
To
sing of frost and biting winds . . .
O-o-oh!
Snow
make a place of a hovel
(While
you struggle with the shovel!)
Snow
gems the trees and crowns the hills --
And
piles up heaps of heating bills!
Snow!
Snow
flutters softly in the air.
Snow
hides all scars (I've read somewhere).
Snow
is beautiful though clammy --
I am going to Miami!
Ho!
Snow
is something to be pleased at
(Though
it's often simply sneezed at!)
I
love the snow! I do, forsooth!
Expect
a lyre to tell the truth?
Snow!
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