Monday, September 27, 2010

Of Course!



Where is this plaque? I've forgotten.
But it must have caught my eye
While strolling in a park one day,
And simply passing by.
A bit of Lewis Carrol,
That master of the fey,
That writer of the impossible,
The Writer of his day.
It struck me as almost 'Irish',
The conversation recorded,
And yet it's utterly sensible,
And I, mentally, applauded.
It seems they've attached it to a bench;
That's where we should sit and dream
Of the wonderful world of 'Alice'
Where nothing is as it may seem.


Someone mentioned that their friend, Miss Robbye was Celebrating a Birthday


A name that has an old-world chime....
Miss Robbye.
It takes us back to a gentler time......
Miss Robbye.
Once Christian names were used by few,
Only relations, one or two,
People who intimately knew
Miss Robbye.

Her first name must have signified
Her hobby.
Gardens and flowers were her pride,
Her hobby.
Maybe her parents called her Rose,
Poppy, Iris, one of those.
Her name was certain to disclose
Her hobby.

Your hundredth birthday comes and goes,
Miss Robbye.
And time and tide forever flows.
Miss Robbye.
Today your seeds are saved and sown
Your plants have multiplied and grown
And how I wish that I had known
Miss Robbye.

1 comment:

Kay L. Davies said...

Lewis Carroll made me laugh, Brenda, what a silly but sensible conversation with the cat!
Your poem for Miss Robbye made me cry. Beautiful. I have many friends who are very old, and have lost many recently, too. I love knowing them, and hate losing them, and sometimes think of going to a church with a younger congregation, but then I'd be the old person. I wish I had Lewis Carroll's Cheshire cat to advise me sometimes.

Alberta, Canada