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"Poetry About Children"
To
Cherish My Child
In
dedication to my precious daughter,
Joanna.
Look into your child's eyes and cherish
what is there.
Cherish the seed of consciousness,
the seed of
confidence,
the seed of
creativity,
the seeds that
grow within.
Cherish your child with your eyes.
Do not do so only twice or thrice,
But forever--for childhood to
the child seems forever.
Cherish your child with your heart
for therein
lies the soul of your being,
the child of
long ago in a far away land
full of life
and creative self expression.
Open the forces around your being,
the breath
of life itself,
the moments
of truth revealed,
the lasting
joy of the moment.
Teach not only with your mouth,
but with your
action and being.
For who you really are is seen
by your child,
and held up
as a standard to look upon
for the quality
of life.
Open your soul.
Cherish your child.
©1996 Sharon
Terry
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Saturday
No, No, No, Don't make
me think today.
It's Saturday.
It's my day to dream.
©Sharon Terry
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Sitting
Place
"I want to sit
In your sitting place,"
She said.
"Okay," I thought,
"Since she's going to do it anyway."
Will she find my treasure,
Or can it only be seen
With my eyes?
Do you have a sitting place?
©Sharon Terry
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She
Kept Asking Me
She kept asking me
About the little animal
Who lived in that shell.
Why did it move out?
I couldn't answer,
Can you?
Some things
don't have an answer.
How do you tell that
to a two-year-old?
I wonder,
I am silent,
Silence.
©Sharon Terry
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Abigail
The
quiet surrounds me.
It's almost time for another feeding.
She looks so tiny in the small, small
bed.
So perfect, so smooth, so round, so
beautiful.
How did this one come to be?
We weren't expecting it to happen
again-
this glorious pregnancy.
But it did, and how can we but love
this beautiful
being sent from heaven.
Won't they miss her there?
Yes, but only for a time.
She is on loan from heaven,
a shared child
of wonder.
And when she returns, she will be
missed here,
but only for a
time.
The woman I see before me now
in dreams of what
she'll be
Is encircled in the child so soft,
so round,
To waken beyond all dreaming
at the proper time
of reason to our minds.
Yet wonders hold a mystery of love.
©Sharon Terry
1996
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The
story quilt lay on the rug
opened
flat
as if waiting
for my hands
and eyes
to admire it.
In the corner,
lay a
tiny heart
so
small
that only in the unbroken line
of stitches
could its outline be seen
by my eyes and touched
by my fingers?
No other hearts lay about
its edges
or at
its center.
It was a mystery
this
story quilt.
My aunt had said
my grandmother
said
her mother said it was
a quilt of love,
a story quilt,
but nothing more of
the story remained.
It was a mystery.
A thousand times,
I had
touched its border
with fingers and eyes
and wondered and dreamed
of the story
it had told so long ago.
It was a mystery.
Within me,
I knew
somehow
that heart was mine
connecting me with a
child my age of long ago,
a girl who loved hearts,
a girl like me.
It was a mystery.
And someday,
I would
give it to my child
and put her under the spell
of the story quilt
and let her fingers and
her eyes touch its wonders
and dream its dreams
and wonder at the mystery.
©1994 Sharon Terry
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