By Rosie Moore
When I was in high school I was fortunate enough not to have to take the subject English but I was introduced to English Literature which also led me to the subject of Poetry. Some of it was nonsensical, some of it was way over my head, but I enjoyed most of it, especially since I’ve gotten older. Cornelious Plantinga, who is President of a Seminary in Michigan, admonishes us that aging doesn’t have to mean decline; make it a pilgrimage of hope. Cicero says cultivate a calm and judicious life from the time you are young, and then let your life ripen. Poetry is one way of doing that. Here are a few nostalgic poems to consider:
Your Arm Around Me
Put your arm around me
I want a little petting
At life’s setting,
For it is harder to be brave
When feeble age comes creeping
And finds me weeping,
Dear ones gone.
Just a little petting
At life’s setting
for I am old and tired
And my long life’s work is done.
Here are two quotes from Bob Marley that should be uplifting:
“Love would never leave us alone” and “We should really love each other in peace and harmony, instead we’re fussin’ n fighting like we ain’t supposed to be.”
Robert Browning said it best: “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made.”
My last poem was quoted at my grandmother’s funeral and it stirs fond memories in my heart:
God hath not promised skies always blue.
Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through.
God hath not promised sun without rain
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.
But God hath promised strength for the day.
Rest for the labor, light for the way.
Grace for the trials, help from above
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.
This lovely poem was written by Annie Johnson Flint, a poetess born in 1866 in New Jersey. For those of you who have access to a computer Google Annie Flint, her life is a remarkable story.
Enjoying poetry at any age is uplifting, but, when you’re elderly , it makes the days brighter, the hours all-consuming and the minutes fly by.
Thought for the day: For flowers that bloom about our feet, for tender grass, so fresh, so sweet. For song of bird and hum of bee; for all things we hear or see, Father in heaven, we thank Thee! Ralph Waldo Emerson
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