Thistledown
by
Lily Gay Williams Gerling
Date: Unknown
Dedicated to you with whom
I may abide in thought.
Lily Gay Williams Gerling
The sweetest, saddest thought to me,
Is one which dwells on constancy
Of friends;
‘Tis sweet because it brings them near,
Yet sad because they are not here,
My friends.
Title Topic
My Definition of America Historic
My Quandry Self
His Realm Mystic
Mad Musings Introspection
A Coquette’s Refrain Opinion
Perhaps Dreams
Begone Emotions
Hope Inspiration
Shield of Faith Loss
Feathered Fantasy Nature
My Sunbeam Joy
Kitten Britches Nature
Memory’s Highway Introspection
Pen-Friend Humor
Mental Highways Spiritual
Life’s Fountain Cup Nature
Ye Ole Family Album Reflection
Dream of Doubt Loss
More to come……
My Definition of America
America is the echo of footprints on Plymouth Rock, of brave men and women who risked their lives for the dear of a home.
American is the echo of clattering hoofs and the rumple of covered wagons in furtherance of that coveted dream.
America is the echo of Patrick Henry's immortal words, "Give me liberty or give me death".
America is the echo of the spirit of "We" and shirring wings unclipped.
America is the echo of blustering life at its fullest.
America is the sweet echo of the variety which is the spice of life.
American is the worthy echo of the greatest gamble on earth.
My Quandary
L Long ago in days of childhood,
I Imaginations filled my brain
L Leaving all the world a cobweb
Y You and I to weave in vain.
W When will realization conquer
I Imagination’s mighty realm,
L Lift the veil, Leave us at random
L Like a ship without a helm?
I If the Power which set us sailing
A Anchors us on golden shores,
M Maybe we’ll become so greedy
S Some of us will want the oars.
His Realm
Far in the regions above
Into the mystic sky
The soul of man rides high
On the mighty pinions of love.
No winter, no sorrow, no night
Into His Realm can steal,
Where living men will feel
The glow of the summer night.
Mad Musings
The feel of spring is in the air,
How it stirs the mad impulse within me.
Can I no longer the years to suppress
Must sadness creep always where joy be.
The sting of years is in my breast
How I long again for those childhood days
Where the years unaware roll into space
Where the key to the lock of time lays.
The March winds come and go again
Would I not pilfer their cunning ways
Full blast each sprint they make us feel
The havoc with us the dear year plays.
The chill of fear is in my breast
Where a couch of deal hope lied unburies
Remorse and regret must still linger on
Where youth’s boundless joys once tarried.
A Coquette’s Refrain
Give me not a single thought
Souls like mine appreciate naught
‘Specially that so ardent sought
Might seem priceless treasure bought
Perhaps
In my dreams methinks I’m gazing
Into blue eyes bright and blazing
With the love which burns down in a
Heart so true;
An e’en though the dam be breaking,
I shall cherish the awaking
For love’s mystery ‘til now I
Never knew.
If we only knew the meaning of it all
Surely fate can hear my aching heart’s
Sad call.
For the power of revealing
What the future is concealing
From my loving soul;
Its rise of it
Downfall.
Can it be that when I’m weary,
I might just as well be cheery
And prove that love is all the word
Implies.
When perhaps he’s in the gloaming
When some other girlie roaming
While I long to gaze into the big
Blue eyes.
Begone
Many is the day
I cry the hours away
And never shed a tear;
Laughing for effect,
Thus hoping to correct
The fault that nurses fear.
Willing tears dry up
Where break the bitter cup
Nor yet the heart beguile’
Wonder where he fled,
That cynic who has said,
“A tear for every smile!”
Hope
In the course of human events,
When we weary of the strife,
There’s something keeps us moving
And clinging to this life.
There is not a case so helpless
But that a sprat remains
Of this our great consoler,
Such joy the word contains.
Now we’re bending o’er the bedside
Of some loved one sinking fast,
Oh, for power to give them comfort
Ere the heart has beat its last.
Now they beckon us toward them
And we hear a faint farewell.
Now we listed to sad music
Whispered by the tolling bell.
Death is sad but life, ‘twere sadder
Could we see beyond the grave.
Who but feels the Mighty Presence
Of some Power our souls to save?
Why speak we so independent?
All is hope, twixt you and me,
We are to the One Who sent us
As apple blossoms to the tree.
Shield of Faith
I have searched the highways and byways
For the beauty that I crave;
I have seen it in the early landscape
In each little wayside grave.
The beauty of soul does not fade away
As that of the face and flower;
It spreads its mantle o’er mankind
Without which he can only cower.
Feathered Fantasy
Last night tin the twilight
I hear the sweet sound
Of a mocking bird heavenly near;
Mimicking, warbling in the endless refrain
With harmony brilliant and clear.
The meadowlark, thrush, the dire whip-poorwill,
The sly catbird, pianissimo;
Spontaneous beauty of music and soul
Merging our spheres with its rhythmic flow
No bow string to resin, no reeds there to set,
Just the Great Mechanic’s fine art;
Upstage rendition of unwritten song
From the depth of a mockingbird heart.
My Sunbeam
It came thru a spot in the trellis vine
And danced like an elf on my know.
It said, “Let us pretend we are one,
Together we will be you and me”.
Far over the ocean we went so fast,
All the earth spread out down below,
There was Korea right under our eyes,
India, Africa; you think we are slow?
The Atlantic Ocean, such a big pond,
Washinton, D.C., A place renown,
St. Louis, K.C. and then L.A.
Back where we started from.
Around the earth in twenty-four hours,
A record unbroken, we say;
Take a trip if you wish to try it
My little sunbeam does it each day.
Kitten Britches
In a forest forlorn, a shaggy scrub oak
Stands alone and clings to it leaves,
When the snows and winds sweep
The other trees bare.
There’s a reason which someone believes.
In this prosaic world of people and things,
When we seek the subconscious mind,
A solution of all the mysteries here
We find them abundant tin kind.
Like begets like where nature abounds,
Mother earth will swallow in time
The things she produces, again to repeat,
Unfettered her laws are sublime.
Memory’s Highway
Down the old path by the woodshed
To our swing beside the road,
How our little feet would patter
Underneath their precious load.
I can hear the squeals of laughter
As we swung there glad and free,
Oh, how full of joy we were then
Doing things just naturally.
Down the old path to the sand bank,
It was far away at first
For little folks to travel.
Of all fears it seemed the worst.
There are many mules and horses
As they grazed about the fields,
And the cow with eats all stored up
Chewing ever of their meals.
Down the path of life together,
Every day beyond recall,
We will wear a badge of courage,
And proclaim our love for all.
Pen-Friend
This friendly little fountain pen
Peeped up at me one morn and said,
“I’m lost and I can do no good
By lying on this concrete bed.
My master is a friendly cuss,
A wee bit careless now and them,
So get me to him right away
Before he buys another pen.
You may be lonely some sad day,
And need some cheering up, ‘tis true,
Then I shall gather up my thoughts
And send a letter on to you.”
Mental Highways
Today I watched the sun go down,
It was not an unusual sight;
I know it must rise in the morning.
I knew it would set at night.
How do I know this? Don’t tell me,
It was a foolish question to ask,
Our Almighty Creator ordains this
It is not a man-made task.
If man would look to his Maker
For the answer to the problems of life.
The solution would be clear as daylight
There would be neither struggle nor strife.
Today I watched the sun do down.
Should it not the soul activate
That man should rise to heights unknown?
Let us pray it is not too late.
Life’s Fountain Cup
When the breath of the summer is spent,
When the flowers are withered and gone,
When the roses that bloomed around the door
Are remembered only in song;
Take this thought to your heart and caress it,
This ghost of the great loves of the past,
The cup must be overflowing
True love must be brimming to last.
As the sprit of life lives always,
Thus the flowers bloom again in the spring,
The picture is wrought in the heart of gold.
While the song of nature we sing.
Ye Ole Family Album
“That’s Gramma and Grampa,
Their parents, too;
Oh, turn the leaf gently,
It’s nearly worn through.
The babies, Lord bless them
Is not this one cute?
And there’s one plum’ naked,
Is it not the beaut?
Here’s one in a casket;
Its days were but five;
How many of our family
Are dead or alive?”
Old tintypes and pictures
Long since all the rage,
Yet we turn through the album
To the very last page
Which is blank
And when we kick to bucket
Our photo will be
Where somebody stuck it.
Dream of Doubt
Oh, what have I missed that I feel so blue,
Is it along the way that I’ve missed you,
Or do you exist in dreams alone?
And must the heart-aching turn to stone?
How shall I know if we ever meet,
Will the heart be gay and manner sweet,
Will your passing be as if unseen,
Leave one to suffer again so keen?
I know that the way is every so dark,
The pitfalls of life do leave their mark,
The deep down real hope eternal springs
And thoughts go soaring as if on wings.
Will eyes be blue or will they be brown,
Will the look into mine with smiles or frown,
Then back to earth and thoughts turn cold.
Naught but that space again to enfold?
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