My children, my children, say what do you see?
The gray hair and wrinkles – is that really me?
I thought I was brown haired. I still feel that way
Why is it the outside has so much to say?
I feel like I’m 40 or 50 at most
Certainly not this 72
My dreams are still with me – my hopes are here too
What matter the numbers to you.
I do it to others, my sisters and brothers
The strangers I pass on the street
For if they are skinny or heavy or lame
That’s what I see when we meet.
Is what’s on the outside so important today
That we’re blind to what’s hidden inside?
The soul that’s a flower – a sweet smelling blossom
May be wearing a mantel that’s dyed.
Look closer, my children, come near me and see
The hope that’s still in me – the living to be
Look past all the wrinkles – the age spots of brown
Come see ME, my children – I’m really quite young.
Wind Chimes;
Windchimes sway gently in the breeze,
The sound they make indeed does please.
Their music sounding as the sea,
Splashing and crashing merrily.
Windchimes dance, windchimes glow,
Windchimes sparkle like the snow.
In their beauty we behold
Colors both beautiful and bold.
Windchimes glowing like the sun,
Bring a smile to everyone.
Winchimes old as time will be,
Forever singing happily.
My Wind Chimes poem:Wind Chimes
by Joanne Strohmeyer
Source: www.articlesbase.com
