Where Silver Tears Do Rust
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Rich In Despair...2001
I've nothing to offer;
But my vision, I'll share.
A life of content.
No demands. No despair.
I'm poor, seen by many.
My possessions are few.
I do not own lace;
Nor barely worn shoe.
My past is but rubble.
My yard sewn with weed.
I exist but for others;
Despite my own need.
Bouquets of wild lavender
Have withered and died.
Once watered by tears;
They too since have dried.
My sleepy cook-kitchen,
Now shoddy and bare.
No meals to cook
For those who once cared.
No apron, I wear;
It's strings tattered and worn.
Grandma's old sideboard,
Now it does adorn.
No sofa to sit on.
No visitors here.
Misery loves company;
But I have none to spare.
My hearth, knotty pine,
Has long since grown cold.
The flesh of my body,
Now weathered and old.
My sweet, white pawed kitty
Lays still in the yard.
Buried deep 'neath
The nightshade and chard.
Cheerfully, the grand-folks
Have all been called home;
Leaving stories untold;
Their spirits still roam.
My dreams, they are dreadful.
No pots of gold seen.
Just the ancestors
Calling to me.
I'm poor, seen by many;
But rich 'neath the soil;
That I've turned my life long
Amid all the turmoil.
I've nothing to offer,
But a heart true and fair;
And for you, right near mine,
An old easy chair...
L.A.McNabb
13 August, 2001
Copyright © 2004 Lori Ann McNabb, All Rights Reserved
But my vision, I'll share.
A life of content.
No demands. No despair.
I'm poor, seen by many.
My possessions are few.
I do not own lace;
Nor barely worn shoe.
My past is but rubble.
My yard sewn with weed.
I exist but for others;
Despite my own need.
Bouquets of wild lavender
Have withered and died.
Once watered by tears;
They too since have dried.
My sleepy cook-kitchen,
Now shoddy and bare.
No meals to cook
For those who once cared.
No apron, I wear;
It's strings tattered and worn.
Grandma's old sideboard,
Now it does adorn.
No sofa to sit on.
No visitors here.
Misery loves company;
But I have none to spare.
My hearth, knotty pine,
Has long since grown cold.
The flesh of my body,
Now weathered and old.
My sweet, white pawed kitty
Lays still in the yard.
Buried deep 'neath
The nightshade and chard.
Cheerfully, the grand-folks
Have all been called home;
Leaving stories untold;
Their spirits still roam.
My dreams, they are dreadful.
No pots of gold seen.
Just the ancestors
Calling to me.
I'm poor, seen by many;
But rich 'neath the soil;
That I've turned my life long
Amid all the turmoil.
I've nothing to offer,
But a heart true and fair;
And for you, right near mine,
An old easy chair...
L.A.McNabb
13 August, 2001
Copyright © 2004 Lori Ann McNabb, All Rights Reserved
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Rich In Despair...2001
Rich In Despair...2001