Heritage Scrapbook Poems Wanted
Cincimom said Thena Smith is the author of the poem on her scrapbook page.
I'm looking for Heritage Scrapbook poetry, other than the following. If you have any, please share. Thanks in advance.
The Old Family Album.
By Ethel K. Gosney
The old family album
Once was prominently displayed
With its cover of red velvet
Trimmed in gleaming silken braid.
Every parlor had a table
Filled with shells and a paperweight.
And the album of your ancestors
Anchored like a ship of state.
There were old tintypes of Grandma,
Aunts and uncles and cousins too --
And Grandpa with his cane and derby,
Fancy vest and button shoes.
Yes, the old family album
Once held its rightful place
In an old-fashioned parlor
Amid souvenirs and lace.
So if you're tired of travel
And your world seems closing in . . .
Bring out the family album
With the tintypes of your kin.
Family ties are precious things,
Woven through the years.
Of memories, of togetherness.
Of laughter, love, and tears.
Family times are treasured things,
And far though we may roam,
The tender bonds with those we love,
Still pull our hearts towards home.
Ties That Bind.
By Joan Stephen.
In my heart are binding ties --
Home and hearth and lullabies.
Children in the yard for fun;
The scent of clove and cinnamon.
Aprons by the kitchen door;
Hats that once a grandma wore.
Music always in the air --
Laughter ringing everywhere.
Rocking babies, spinning tops --
Deep true love and moms and pops.
Picket fences, words that please;
I remember all of these.
Parties, songs, a patchwork quilt.
A rustic barn some farmer built.
Flower gardens; butterflies --
These are all the binding ties.
By Faye Tanner Cool.
The clatter in her kitchen
Meant that Mom was making pie,
Bread or cake or cookies
As she sang "Blest Be the Tie."
She'd clink a cup of shortening,
Swish some sugar, tap some spice;
I remember all those kitchen
Sounds as clatter extra nice.
Sometimes it was the scraping
So some pancakes wouldn't burn.
Sometimes it was the beating
Of an egg for 'nog or 'pone . . .
I can still hear that clatter now
Even though I am grown.
These days I have a kitchen
That I clatter in that way,
With a wee girl perched beside me
Storing clatter for her day.
Heirlooms: Expressions of love from one generation to another.
~> @ <~
Jesus loves me, this I know . . .
Last edited by UnderstandBlue; 08-26-2011 at 05:01 AM..
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