Wish List for My Children
(and grandchildren)

I wish that I could wrap for you
a gift that guarantees
safe passage for your journey
through life's cold and rugged seas.

I'd fill a box with prayers and hopes
that you'll survive each storm,
and find a private haven
where you feel secure and warm.

If faith could be a golden chain,
I'd find one just your size;
if truth could be a telescope,
you'd see where danger lies.

My final gift would hold for you
a never-ending spark,
so all your dreams would stay alight
to lead you through the dark!

elastic moms!
dedicated to my daughters

tethered on reins
of perpetual tugs
bandaging hurts
with a comforting hug

solving dilemmas
in flexible style
sponging the tears
and rekindling smiles

battered, rebounding
and pressed into place
steering the trust
in a little one's face

buffering squabbles
that billow and ebb
guarding the doorways
from dragons of dread

sweeping debris
from the stages of growth
stretching the ends
to encompass the whole

sculpting tomorrow
on scars of the past
tackling life's
most impossible tasks!

Strawberry Dimples

With sun-spun laughter, the small child grasps
the berries that float through ripples of green;
then Grandma's fingers, with nimble thrusts,
show eager young hands how to hull and clean.

Their harvest is sealed in brass-ringed jars
and the pantry flaunts its crimson boast;
for months to come, they'll spoon the mounds
of juicy sweetness on crisp, warm toast.

Those long-ago crumbs leave a wistful trail
as they fall on my lonely, meandering miles.
My jar of memories, well-preserved,
holds strawberry dimples and yesterday's smiles.

Small Trusts

With eager feet and hungry eyes
they scamper through the fields of youth,
collecting clustered knowledge leaves
and chasing butterflies of truth.

They pause for teachers who can catch
a far horizon, reel it near,
let tiny fingers feel its pulse
connecting with their own small spheres.

The shaping of a destiny
is not by presidential rule;
it's molded in the tender minds
entrusted to each home and school.

Guideposts for Our Children

What colors shall we use to paint
the signs we make to mark their trail?
What words will touch their hearts and lead
them to the truth? Suppose we fail?

Is now the time we should insist
that fairy tales aren't what they seem
and happily-ever-after days
are based on someone's wistful dream?

The simple things that once would thrill
a youngster's heart no longer glow;
old-fashioned values fade away
when fads and gadgets steal the show.

Upheavals that have changed our world
reveal a multitude of sins;
the age of innocence is pastó
an age of watchfulness begins.

What colors shall we use to paint
the signs we make to mark their trail?
What words will touch their hearts and lead
them to the truth? We must not fail.

© Laryalee Fraser