(For my little wheel-chair bound step-niece)

Just look at what I've found! 
Why, it's even leather-bound, 
For my little friend, Heather, 
Up on her hill.

The poets and their faces - 
The best our English verse embraces! 
The "Immortals" whose voices 
Time will never still.

Their thoughts, pure and true, 
Endure like granite here for you 
In this eternal paper temple 
To man's grace.

They're a democratic lot, 
Who make us think - agree or not - 
With words man's greed and power 
Cannot erase.

Some praise Almighty God, 
Who is denied by this old clod. 
YOU hear His truth, reserved 
But for the wise. 

Love and pain I understand, 
But hate the viciousness of man; 
I hear nature's plaintive plea 
For our demise! 

Some write of tragedy and war, 
Or other woes we may deplore; 
Some are too lofty for our minds 
To comprehend.

But some poignantly reminisce - 
Recall a rose . . . a tender kiss, 
Or immortalize their childhoods 
Way back then.

I'll ask you to ignore 
poems with themes in praise of war; 
And, too, the mournful thoughts 
Of gentle boys who fell.

But enjoy the smiles and thrills! 
Aunt Mary's jam and daffodils! 
Blithe rhymes which interweave 
To cast their spells!

When you're all alone at home, 
Shout LOUDLY through each poem! 
Bounce Bobby Burns' Scottish accent 
Off your wall!

But for each despondent mood, 
I bequeath you Ella's "Solitude". 
She whispers wisdom for us all 
'Til shadows fall.

If I could emulate Abou - 
If Kipling's "If" for me were true' 
If I could live in Foss' "house" 
Beside his road.

If MY words could grace these pages - 
One gem of wisdom for the Ages, 
I'd find a purpose for this 
Godless path I've strode.

Though sin and folly strew my lane, 
I cherish Emily's "Not in Vain". 
It's a lonely grain of wheat 
In my world of chaff.

We'll not meet in your "Hereafter" 
Think of me kindly, and with laughter 
And may, "He Was A Friend" 
Be my earthly epitaph.

(Enjoy this little book in leather - 
and remember me . . . Dear Heather!)

Old Magoo