The anniversaries of my parents' birthdays fall this week. They nurtured me and provided a safe, loving home. My mom especially loved poetry. Her generation grew up memorizing poems. One of my special memories is of my two uncles reciting Kipling's "Gunga Din" together a few years ago.
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
Ever supportive, my mom recited for me the first poem I ever wrote when she was 88 years old.
I saw a big fat robin
a-hunting for a worm.
and when he did find one,
my, how he did squirm!
Fortunately, my grandchildren are much better poets than I was at age 9!
This week I'm preparing to share with my contemplative group what I learned in the Psalm-writing workshop.