Church Bells / Campanas de iglesia en Guayaquil

churchI like the bells!
Not everybody likes them
But I like the bells.

No they don’t play a discernable tune,
They mostly ‘cling’ and ‘clang’,
Sounding early and throughout the day.

Yet against a background of whining car alarms,
The clamor of Taxi horns,
And the guttural grinding of bus gears,

The bells are cheerful music to my ears.

Cerita M. Hewett
August 20, 2010

Campanas de iglesia en Guayaquil

Me gusta las campanas!
Todo el mundo no les gustan,
Pero a mi me gustan las campanas.

No, no tocan una melodía discernible,
En su mayoría solo ‘cling’ y ‘clang’,
Sonando temprano y durante todo el día.

Sin embargo contra el fondo de las quejas de las
alarmas de las coches,
El clamor de los pito de taxi,
Y el gutural rechinar de engranajes del bus,

Las campanas son una música alegre para mis oídos.

Cerita M. Hewett
20 de agosto de 2010


RoseThe two long stemmed,
White rose buds,
I was given in the temple,
Stood in my catsup bottle vase,
For several days,
Improving our apartment with
Their delicate beauty.

One of them unfolded,
Little by little and let forth
A lovely delicate perfume,
Then dropped her head,
Her yellow center seeds and
Soft petals gradually fell upon the table.

The other stayed as a bud,
She never opened so I tried,
To inspire her with fresh water,
And a new clean cut along her stem,
But she refused to open,
Gradually growing brown,
First around the edges and then her center,
Until I gave her up to the waste basket.

Remembering both the fully opened all giving ose,
And the brown holding back unfulfilled bud,
Who both expired,
I wonder at our opened
Or unopened hearts, gifts, powers,
That bless or never fully develop
To gladden our lives and others.

Cerita M. Hewett
Sept. 28, 2009

Woman of 1776

 Wlliamsburg, VirginiaO woman of 1776 what was your pain, your travail,
What mighty labor did you perform,
When freedom’s child was born?
We know of Martha Washington how she came to Valley Forge,
Of Jane Adams’ sacrifice and her kindly charm,
But what of the women of ‘76 in the cottage or on the farm?

How did you farm with your man at war,
Did you milk with the boys away,
Who sheared the long wool from your sheep on shearing day?
Could you send the news of the baby born,
The daughter or son so fair,
Did you choose a name he would have liked, if he’d been there?

As you knit the socks and cared for the child,
Did you long for the battle line,
Could you imagine the glory of America free in time?
What news did you hear from Valley Forge,
Or the river Delaware,
Was the battle won or lost and how did your loved one fare?

Who helped you open the shop each morn,
Who sold the goods, counted the pay,
Did you sweep the floor before you “closed” for the day?
As you lighted the lamps when the night was near,
Could you hear the cannon roar,
Were you trembling to know how close they came to your family door?

What did your heart feel day on day,
Did it hold both fear and faith,
How did you bear the somber news of a dear one’s wound or death?
On the first of the week as you went to your church,
Did you sing and think and pray,
Did your heart cry out to Him all through the Sabbath day?

There’s not much written about you my dear,
The history pages are thin,
But when men fight for freedom true, the women must help to win!
Oh woman of 1776 you minded the shop and the farm,
You loved and cared for the children small,
You worked, you prayed, you did it all!

So when he came if that he could,
That loved one all battle worn,
He found you and the children, safe at home.

Cerita M. Hewett
July 1976 (revised 2015)




Transplants are tender.
Need nourishment,
Wilt in the heat of the day,
Perk up in the cool of the evening.
Crave life giving water.

The older they are the greater the risk,
Some may not make the transition
From the familiar,
To the new surprising garden.

Many with extra care
Put down new roots and flourish.
They once again bear fruit.

Cerita M. Hewett
June 3, 2015
Revised July 6, 2015


weedingI was reminded again today,
How important it is to weed
My own garden and
How difficult and even dangerous it is,
To try to weed,
Someone else’s ground.

Not knowing what is planted in that soil,
It is easy to pull a flower in its beginnings,
Mistaking it for a weed.
Leaving a gaping wound whose
Healing takes such time
And effort that one tires into exhaustion.

In the heat of the moment,
One is served best by
Searching out and extracting,
Personal weeds as carefully as possible,
Leaving the care of another’s plot,
Safely in the owner’s loving hands.

Cerita M. Hewett
July 2009
Revised November 2014

Art Festival – for LeeAnn

art fest

A river of people flowed in and out
Along the art fest stalls displaying
Sculpture, painting, pottery, glass works,
With people floating in and out,
Seeking the medium that pleased them most,
Slipping by the booths that didn’t interest them.

We melted in among the swirl,
Swimming smoothly stopping and starting,
Soaking up the art, yet keeping Roger’s head in sight,
As he moved effortlessly, gliding quickly through the flood,
We paused longer at displays,
Talked briefly with some artists.

It seemed a thoughtful overflow of young and old,
Couples, singles, babies in strollers, teens,
Somehow calmed and gentled in the stream,
Amazed that in three hours of drifting,
We were jostled or bumped only once or twice,
And then received profuse apologies!

The sun, the breeze, the early Spring,
The coming back to life,
The art and its creators,
Came together for one delightful day,
Which flowed and ebbed into
A lovely memory.

Cerita M. Hewett
April 12, 2015
Revised May 18, 2015


ceritaThere was a time when I was
Satisfied with my life,
But that was before I had
All this time to wonder.

Would this or that have
Been better for our family,
For Roger, for me, Somehow—
Could I have seen more clearly?

Yes, there was a time when
I was satisfied with life,
But that was before
I had this time to wonder.

Cerita M. Hewett
July 20, 2015


biking in the woodsMy knees have personalities,
I know it’s strange but true,
My Left Knee complains on biking hills,
My Right just pumps like new.

But when I sit and rest awhile,
My Left is loose and fine,
While Right Knee tightens up a bit,
And wants to be reclined.

I really like my knees,
In spite of personalities,
Because they still can ride a bike,
Drive a car and take hike!

Cerita M. Hewett
July 27, 2014

The Present

CalendarHow elusive is this thing
Called “The Present,”
For it is relentlessly
Becoming The Past,

While The Future takes over
The Present.
We are counseled to live
In The Present,
We even counsel others to,
“Be present” in The Present.

Yet Today always becomes
Yesterday remembered,
And Tomorrow
Is already Today.

And Someday,
In Eternity,
Will be—will be a
Perfect memory!

                   Cerita M. Hewett
                      January 10, 2015

LaVon Lyons Moore

Pioneer Mother


LaVon Lyons Moore

She lived, she really lived!
At six she ran to school from her Alberta home,
Bundled up against the freezing wind,
Arriving at the school chilled to the bone.
Standing by the warm wood stove,
She thawed too quickly and fainted,
But she lived.Lyons trek map

When ten she walked from the Canadian plains
Beside a covered wagon,
Eight hundred miles to the Boise Valley,
Feared the distant mountains they must pass,
Comforted by her father’s counsel of unseen roads,
She continued walking, and walking,
Laid on her back in the Mts. under berry bushes,
Picked her first fresh fruit,
Ate until her stomach was full.
Then walked on.Lyons wagon crew


Another day she rode her bother Ivan’s
Horse all day long,
Became violently ill in the night,
Terrific pain in the abdomen,
Yet she lived, persisted, and walked on.


In the icy winter weather,
At Nampa her family boarded a train,
Rode two-hundred miles to Burley, Idaho
Having left on June 10, 1914 and arrived Thanksgiving Day
To live in a tent until something better could be made.
LaVon grew and matured.


Contracted Typhoid FeverLavon Lyons Moore portait
Lost much of her hair,
Lived isolated in a bedroom with her father
For a month or more,
With his tender care she
Endured and recovered.


During the Depression LaVon,
Dropped out of high school to help the family,
Worked in town as a secretary because she could type,
Served as a fountain waitress because they needed her,
Came to like cherry coke a lot,
Read books and kept learning,
Walked to her work each day.



Eloped in December at nineteen years of age
With handsome Billy Moore,
Nine years older than she,
Held her hands over his ears to keep them warm,
As they drove the two hundred miles in an unheated
Ford to the Boise valley and his parents’ home,
Began being a homemaker.


Their first child died at birth,
She was close to death herself,
Never saw the baby,
Was not present at his funeral,family
Rallied back to life,
Always remembering him,
She walked on.


Farmed with her husband on rented land,
Made it in the hard years.
Made clothes,
Made bread,
Made soap,
Made do,
And bore children.



 In one twelve month periodwayne  Their nine year old son Wayne died of leukemia,
Her Mother died of cancer,
And she gave birth to a baby girl.
Trusting in the Lord,
Not giving in she walked on.





Started farming their own place the winter of forty-one,
In June of forty-two Bill died,
Leaving her with six children,
Crops to irrigate, cows to milk,
Chickens to feed,
And a baby on the way,
Her neighbors helped her through
That season and all survived.


That November she bore her ninth child,with baby
A beautiful baby boy,
When friends suggested that it was sad
To have a baby in such circumstances,
She replied, “Who knows but what he will
Bring me great happiness.”
She found in him great joy.




Sold the farm she could not keep,
Because a woman could not carry the mortgage,
So she moved her children to an acreage,
Grew gardens, milked cows, sold eggs,
Kept the books and worked at the welfare storehouse,
Cooked in the school lunch program,
Believing things would work out,
Sustained her family.

mature lavon


Now she took her children to church,
Understood the spirit of the gospel,
Taught them as she read the Book of Mormon,
Made suppertime an occasion
By her excellent cooking,
And lively conversation,
Maintained a loving, happy home.


Her children grew up and one by onegrown family
Left her home for college,
For Missions,
For the military,
For jobs,
For their own homes,
For their own lives,
Alone she wrote letters and walked on.


Fell down the basement stairs,
Broke her leg but crawled up
To phone for help,
Persevered and healed,
In the safety of the mall walked on.

with grandkids

Grandchildren came to visit,
She loved them, listened to them,
Encouraged them, laughed with them,
Read to them favorite stories,
Learned to knit and made them sweaters.
Believed always in their goodness.


Grew weaker in a frail body,
Couldn’t live alone anymore,
Lived with her children,
Then lived in a nursing home,
                                                   Still smiled with visitors,
                                                   Encouraged her care givers,
                                                   Made the best of every situation,
                                                   With a walker she walked on.


LaVon Lyons Moore truly experienced mortal life.lavon 85
She could smile and her eyes would twinkle,
Found joy in the small things of life,
Ripe peaches, canning grape juice,
Planted crops, clean faces and combed hair,
Scriptures, Sunday, good books, poetry,
Children’s play and accomplishments.
She walked in faith to the last moment.


lavon 1975Walking on before us she smoothed the way,
She loved deeply, sacrificed, and pioneered,
Beyond this mortal life,
She lives and watches for her posterity,
Expecting us to walk on!