Poems by Debra L Brown

Spring comes early,
when you live on a farm.
There's new born life,
and sounds in the barn.

Silas, the rooster,
was clucking and crowing.
"Come! Come! See,"
"I have something worth showing."

The hens were gossiping,
and clucking a song.
Running to see,
whatever was wrong?

The horses were alerted,
the sheep were too.
The cows in the fields,
you can hear their "M-O-O-O-S".

Now that the animals,
have all gathered round.
"Tell us, Mr. Silas,"
"whatever have you found?"

Before this charming old Rooster,
could make a sound.
You heard the cries in the corner,
Oh! were they loud!

Up popped a head,
as cute as can be.
Oh! No, I think that,
maybe there's three.

It seems that the farmer's Collie,
by the name of Miss Kate.
She had her puppies in the barn,
last night around eight.

"Oh! Miss Kate! your puppies,
are as precious as can be".
"What ever will you name them,
your litter of three".

"Thank you! Very kindly",
"Please! meet my pack of three".
"Willa, Grace and little Elliot Kate",
"I'm as proud as can be of my little family".

The animals left happy,
and wished them all well.
Except for Mr. Silas,
he has a new story to tell.

Yes, spring comes early,
when you live on a farm.
There's new born life.
and sounds coming from the barn.

When we think about the birth
of this great nation,
Congress declared July the 4th 1776
and issued a proclamation.

With this decree, the thirteen colonies
are now free.
We will no longer live
under England's Monarchy.

Five great men
were given the task
to draw up papers
for freedom at last.

Thomas Jefferson,
we can remember.
A founding father,
Patriot and a Continental member.

Together these men
drafted the amendments.
Franklin, Livingstone, Sherman and Adams,
united they authored the Declarations of Independence.

Battles were fought,
and blood was shed.
Life was lost,
and men were dead.

"FREEDOM" came with
A heavy price.
War is not pretty,
nor is it nice.

We can thank
the Lord above.
He gave us these United States,
a country we can love.

Men fought for our freedom,
and with their lives they did pay.
That's why we celebrate
Independence Day.

I sent a rose to you today.
I hope you didn't mind.
I left it with the Archangel
who was standing just outside.

I left a note upon it.
Signed, to my Valentine.
The simple words were blurred
from the tears I could not hide.

You have enriched my life with laughter
and made the sun to shine.
I love you and I miss you,
Signed, your Valentine.

Sometimes when my heart is heavy,
and these tears I can't avoid,
I would rather have loved you for a moment
than to have an empty void.

Please save a place for me, my love.
I hope you wouldn't mind.
Remember that I love you,
Signed, your Valentine.

I wish I could go back to the past,
of Christmases long ago.
I wish I could see my loved ones
who have passed on long ago.

I'd love to be that child again
who sat on Santa's knee.
Yes, all these memories that I have
decorating the tree.
   
I wish I could wake Christmas morn
to see Daddy baking ham.
And to see my mamma making her yummy
famous candy yams.

I wish I could go to Grandma's house;
her cookies were the best.
The pies and cakes that she would bake,
she kept them in a chest.

Her house would smell like ginger,
with a hint of Balsam Pine.
She'd decorate the house with lights,
and it would surely shine.

All these Christmas memories,
it seems like yesteryear.
I'd love to go back to the past.
This is my Christmas prayer.

I once had a kitty
who had stripes in her fur.
I could pet her and brush her,
and boy could she purr.

She was a mighty hunter,
and she was not shy.
She'd seek out the bugs,
especially the flies.

Oh, you mischievous little kitty,
with your face in the can.
That fly you are chasing
is now on the stand.

That nasty old bug
thinks he's smart and witty.
But he's never tangled
with my little kitty.

He thinks he's outsmart her,
that clever old bug.
She'll curl up and wait there
on that big fluffy rug.

My clever little kitty,
oh no, she's no dope.
She'll sit back and wait.
She'll show him the ropes.

She curled up and waited,
like a clever old spy.
Then she jumped up
and pounced on that taunting old fly.

So the moral of the story,
if you are a fly,
don't mess with my kitty,
or you will soon die.

This is to all the great Master Poets of art,
Having the skills, the words, and the smarts.
Emotions you've captured, the thoughts you provoked.

Pouring your heart out with pen in your hand,
Orchestrating your words like no one can.
Elizabeth Browning, Dickinson, Shakespeare, and Poe,
Twain and Frost - these great ones you know.
Reflecting on their works, which have brought us to tears.
Yes, yearning for more, we felt all their fears.

Masterfully crafted their words - they can fool,
Artist on paper, their pen is their tool.
Strategy playing with rhythm and rhymes,
Touching our hearts and enriching our minds.
Experts and masters, their poems live on.
Reflecting on your memory now that you're gone.
So, thanks for your poetry. I leave with this thought, "How do I Love Thee?"