A Poem for Spring, a Poem for Fall

From the heart of Wanda Rohman


April caressed the hill with golden glow  
whispering to the fragile rose to grow.  
Against gray, among rocks it grew.  
Its spiked thorns cradling the dew.  

Graced with glint of diamonds shining there
one lone rose struggled-its beauty to share.  
A hand reached out, this gem to take away.  
Gentle touch caused the hand to stay.  

Here among the rocks this rose must be
If in a garden no one might see  
this bit of crimson flame or diamond's glint.  
To strange places God's precious gems are sent.  


Listen! Music notes echo.  
Mother Earth prepares the way.  
Hills become giant boquets  
to welcome Autumn's today.  

Mother Earth breathes forth
a gentle wind that shakes trees.  
Colored chimes begin to play  
music of breeze gliding over leaves.  

The reds sing out bugle notes-
The yellows make sweet cello sound.  
All the colors complete the act  
While the browns dance upon the ground.  

Mother Earth has yielded her harvest.
Orange pumpkins lie all around.  
Corn is grinning through the shuck.  
The fruits lie ripe upon the ground.  

Her children work to take her gifts.
Her bounty is every place to see-  
Earth garnished, beauty only she can give.  
Thankfully, her children dance with glee.  

      And here is a final  
      poem from Wanda . . .  


A fringe of yellow daffodil  
Formed a square along the hill.  
Here and there I saw a stone . . .  
All that was left of a home long gone.  

A big oak guarded the daffodil.
Strong but scarred it stood there still.  
Once wind plucked the leaves as children swang,  
Then limp and empty the swings now hang.  

Strange that still blooms the daffodil
As if to mark the space upon the hill.  
Just gray stones and flowers left to say  
Once a family lived here then faded away.  

Wanda would enjoy hearing from you at

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