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Old 11-12-2013, 03:11 PM   #361
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SPECIAL DELIVERY
By D. L. Cornell.

In London days so long ago,
Behind a front of dignity,
Lovers knew delightful ways
To carry on in secrecy.

A lady's fan upon her cheek
A lilac-scented letter
Could tell a man that o'er the rest,
She thought he was much better.

Yet, no young lover's language
Could convey a whole romance
Quite as sweetly and completely
As the London postage stamp.

If a lady was well-bred
And sought a man with proper grace
She could send a proper message
Stamped in the proper place.

With a stamp placed to the right
On an envelope she'd send
A message to her heart's desire,
"I want to be your friend."

If a man was not quite ready,
Didn't want to settle down,
He'd return the lady's message
With a stamp placed upside down.

The lady knew, of course,
That "Write no more" was what he meant,
But a very persistent lady
Flipped a stamp and placed it left.

Any gentleman was flattered.
With that message, "I love you,"
But stamping left-hand corner
He'd sweetly bid "Adieu."

When a lady's heart was broken,
She found it could be mended
With "Accept my love," stamped lower right,
From a new love who had sent it.

And if, by any chance, in time,
Her former love came 'round,
He'd send a letter with a stamp,
Placed sideways, right, and down.

He meant, "I long to see you."
But alas, the lady jilted
Promptly stamped another letter
On the left and slightly tilted.

And knowledgeable man,
By a (male chicken)-eyed stamp was shaken,
He knew he'd waited far too long,
The lady's heart was taken.

It seems the London postmen
Grew weary of this game,
For they now require everyone
To place their stamps the same.

But you can rest assured
That young love will find new ways,
Of winning hearts and breaking hearts
As they did in olden days.
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Old 11-12-2013, 03:42 PM   #362
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Poem for Memory Pail for New Mom?

Micro wave Popcorn poem
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Old 11-21-2013, 05:33 PM   #363
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A Christmas Poem
By Mrs. Marion Wiley.

The packages are gaily wrapped
And placed beneath the tree.
Sparkling in the candle light,
For everyone to see.
The friendly glow of Yuletide logs
Reflect good will and cheer
So much a part of Christ,
At this Holy time of year.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
At Christmas play and make good cheer
For Christmas comes but once a year.
~ Thomas Tusser.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
A Merry Xmas Greeting!
By Mrs. Clyde Fiscus

When I was shopping for Xmas cards,
I saw some for Sister and Brother
The teacher, the milkman and Postman
And such beautiful ones that said Mother
Some for an Uncle and some for an Aunt
And even for Mother-in-law.
Some that said Father and some that said Dad
And one I saw simply said Pa.
But none did I find for the women and men
Who must stay on the job Xmas Day
To render a service on which we depend
A service far greater than their pay.
There's the policemen, firemen, and hospital staff
And the girls at the switchboard so kind,
The only bells they hear Xmas Day
Are the ones that ring in on the line.
The ambulance driver stands ready to run
At the slightest emergency call--
And so many more that I can think of
There's not room to mention them all.
So to all of those who so faithfully serve
On the days and nights that we rest
May your Xmas be cheerful if not very gay
And your New Year be one of the best!
~~ <> @ <> ~~
A Solution to My Problem
By Mrs. George Dostal
(a poem for gift card tags)

'Twas two weeks before Christmas
And all through the stores
I wandered and looked and
Still looked some more.
My head was aching
And so were my feet
And I almost passed out
From the store's terrific heat.
Should I buy this
Or should I get that
But all my ideas
Were soon falling flat.
At last I decided
The best thing to do
Was to roll up some "green stuff"
And send it to you.
So without a moment
Or second to spare
I wrapped up this package
With the greatest of care.
Please take it and shop
With care you can choose
A gift you will like to wear or to use.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
They Call Me Just a Housewife
By Mrs. Elliot Dunn

They call me just a housewife
And I'm proud to bear the name;
You may never see me listed,
On the Honor Roll of Fame.
Career women look with pity
At my apron, brush, and mop,
But, I wouldn't trade them places,
For the things their money bought!

They call me just a houswife--
And I'm surely glad, indeed,
That, God thought I'd be successful,
In this work of love and need;
As I polish floors and windows,
Stylish ladies pity me,
But, I wouldn't trade them places,
If their mansions were all free!

Some folks are quite successful--
Kings of Finance--So they say!
And they seem to find their glory
Gathering gold along the way,
Let them have their golden moments
I'm not jealous of their life,
For I feel just like a Princess
When my husband calls me wife!

Yes, they call me just a housewife!
But I'm more--much more! You see
I am keeper of a household,
Which is Home, Sweet Home to me.
I am rich in Love and loved ones,
And I'm free from strain and strife,
I'm so glad God thought me useful,
Being just a plain "Housewife!"
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Old 11-22-2013, 08:56 PM   #364
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Wagon Train
By Mrs. B. Mayes Drumight

I love to let my heart roam free
And wander back in time
In fancy I can see them there
As they stretch out in a line.

I ride the wagon train across
A rough and wild terrain
I grit the dust between my teeth
And feel the summer rain.

I sit around the camp fires light
And hear the cowboys song
I hear the wailing cry of coyotes
As the howl the whole night long.

I would love to travel all the way
Out to the golden gate
But chores are calling me just now
So dreams will have to wait.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
When I ran across this little poem, it reminded me of the mustache stamps that are so popular right now. I can just picture this poem on one of Tim Holtz's long tags . . .

The Little Black Mustache
Author Unknown

Once I had a charming beau,
I loved him dear as life,
I thought the time would come
When I would be his wife.

Gold watch and chain, and diamond ring,
He cut quite a dash,
Coal black eyes and curly hair,
And a darling black mustache.

He came to see me on Sunday eve
And stayed till almost three,
He vowed he never loved a girl
As well as he loved me.

Every time I looked at him
My heart beat quick and fast,
I longed to kiss those dear sweet lips
And the darling black mustache.

There came along a sour old maid
Just worth her weight in gold,
She had false teeth and wore false hair
And was forty-five years old.

And carelessly he deserted me,
It was for the old maid's cash,
If you must know, I've lost my beau
With the little black mustache.
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Old 11-27-2013, 05:10 PM   #365
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What a wonderful collection of poems!
Thanks 4 givin!
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Old 11-28-2013, 06:26 PM   #366
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Legend of the Forget-me-not
Author Unknown.

When to the flowers so beautiful
The Father gave a name,
There came a little blue-eyed one--
So sheepishly it came--
And standing at the Father's feet,
And gazing at His face,
It said with low and timid voice,
And yet with gentle grace,
"Dear Lord, the name thou gavest me,
Alas, I have forgot."
The Father kindly looked on him
And said, "Forget-me-not."
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Flowers may wither,
Flowers may die.
Friends may forget you
But never will I.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
That Old Oaken Cradle
By B.W. Blanchard

One day while I pondered, my eyes fondly wandered,
To my dear mother's picture which hung on the wall;
With thoughts quite ecstatic, I went to the attic,
And roamed all alone through Memory's hall.
And there in confusion were toys in profusion,
Rag dolls, broken drums, tin soldiers forlorn,
But the dearest old treasure, beloved beyond measure,
Was my old oaken cradle all battered and worn.

That old oaken cradle, that old fashioned cradle,
The bark which I sailed over babyhood seas;
While the unclouded skies of my mother's blue eyes
Formed the beautiful heaven that hovered o'er me.

And I thought of the wildwood, where I roamed in my childhood,
And the deep sparkling spring at the end of the lane;
The old barn unpainted, the milkhouse untainted,
The hives full of honey, the fields rich with grain.
And those dust-covered treasures, linked with babyhood pleasures
Soothed my heart like sweet perfume from rose garden borne;
And in spite of my sadness, my soul thrilled with gladness,
And the sight of that cradle old-fashioned and worn.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
School Days
Author Unknown.

School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days
Reading and Writing and 'Rithmetic,
'Taught to a tune of a hickory stick
You were my queen in Calico
I was your bashful barefoot beau
And you wrote on my slate
"I love you Joe"
When we were a couple of kids.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
God grant that I may live and fish
Until my dying day,
And when my final cast is made
I then most humbly pray.
When in the Lord's safe landing net,
I'm peacefully asleep,
That in his mercy I be judged
As good enough to keep.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Fanci-Unwork
By Fay D. Uptain

My "someday" closet is a fright
Only I know what's within,
All its treasures are out of sight,
Waiting for fingers to begin.
Books of needlework squeezed in place,
Bottle-caps for hot-mat sets,
A hank of ribbon, one of lace
Stuffing for some gingham pets.
Hooked-rug patterns, ready-stamped,
Quilt batting for a baby's bed,
A tangled bag of floss now cramped
Beneath wound odds and ends of thread.
Material pieces plastic-sacked
Appliques both big and small;
Hot-iron transfers closely packed,
Pot-holder squares rolled into a ball.
Knitting needles, steel and bone,
Crochet hooks from 1 to Z;
A button box, contents unknown,
Yarn skeins waiting to be free.
Someday I'll open up the door,
And sort the things in awe and dread,
But now I'll do just as before,
Ambitiously buy more instead.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
The Heavenly Weaver deftly weaves,
Upon his loom each day,
The pattern of our lives takes form
In an often puzzling way.
Dark threads and light are intertwined
In ways that seem unwise;
But when its done, a masterpiece
Unfolds before our eyes!
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Poem for a Parrot Coffee Potholder

May I sit on your coffee pot handle
And guard you from the heat?
I won't even ask for a cracker,
I'll just sit and watch you eat.
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Old 01-04-2014, 02:56 PM   #367
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The Old Bridge
By John Everington

The covered bridge across the stream
Is a treasured thing to me;
I causes me to pause and dream
Of times that used to be.

Its creaking voice I love to hear
In mellow tones, so soft and slow
Bringing back to me, with hearty cheer,
Fond memories of long ago.

It tells of glad, unhurried years
And friends of other days;
Of hopes and fears, of joys and tears
And good old-fashioned ways.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Pen Pals
By Annie M. Moravetz.

It's rather wonderful I think,
When friends are made with pen and ink--
A piece of paper, blue and white
Someone decided that she will write
To one whom she has never seen,
Who lives where she has never been.
A pen becomes a magic wand,
Two strangers start to correspond
Not strangers long but soon good friends
It's truly beautiful, I think
When friends are made with pen and ink.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Life's Weaving
By Father Tabb

My life is but a weaving --
Between my God and me.
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be,
For He can view the pattern,
Up on the upper side,
While I can see it only,
On this--the underside.

Sometimes He weaveth sorrow;
Which seemeth strange to me
But I will trust his judgement
And work on faithfully;
'Tis He who fills the shuttle,
He knows just what is best,
So I shall weave in earnest
And leave with him the rest.

At last when life is ended,
With Him I shall abide,
Then I shall view the pattern
Upon the upper side.
Then I shall view the pattern
Upon the upper side.
Then I shall know the reason
Why pain and joy entwined,
Was woven in the fabric,
Of life that God designed.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Note: For your enjoyment. Last I heard, chain letters sent through snail mail were illegal. Anybody know different?

Chain Letters
By Gladys M. Robinson

Chain letters seem to be the fad again,
Remember years ago, the chain letters, when
They asked you to remove the first name
At the top, and add yours to the bottom, was the game.
Of course, send a dime or a tea towel to a friend,
Whose name was at the top, and you'd get hundreds in the end.
O, how true you felt this must be,
So you followed the instructions, just to see,
And of course, you sent the tea towel or a dime;
Then all you got, was your name on the last line.
Now the fad is a chain of a different kind.
It's not asking for anything, but you find,
You'll have "bad luck," there's no doubt;
So copy this "prayer," and again send it out,
To someone else so they can share,
All the good fortune, that's lurking there!
But I'm not superstitious of these chains,
So "bad luck" will surely be my gain;
But that leaves all the blame on me,
Because you've already sent, your copy, you see!
~~ <> @ <> ~~
sayings for hot chocolate package
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Old 02-02-2014, 01:48 AM   #368
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My Old TeaKettle
By Lyndel Cole Burlington.

My old, old teakettle sits on the range,
I'm sure a new one would seem very strange,
Its song is so peaceful, comforting, too,
I never, would never change it for new.

New teakettles all shiny and bright,
Whistle away with all of their might.
They speak of industry and the world's mad RUSH,
But they never say be thoughtful--or hush.

My old teakettle is singing to me,
The words are these, "Make tea, make tea,"
As I sit alone this dark stormy night,
The song it sings is so bright, so bright!
~~ <> @ <> ~~
The Uh Oh Bucket
(found on Pinterest, Author Unknown)

You left it out,
I picked it up.
I've got your stuff,
You're out of luck!
To get it back
You must do a chore
And again it's yours
Just like before.
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