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


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


Field of daisy flowers

The daisy with its golden sun center
And white radiating petals,
His light and eternal knowledge.

The daffodils first blooms,
Of the first spring for all mankind,
When He arose and came forth.

The rose with the sweet fragrance of
Life, not of the tomb,
His glorious resurrection.

Well then, all things remind me,
Trucks pulling heavy loads
His cross.

Bucket loaders
Lifting dirt and rocks to higher places,
His lifting of our sins.

Cars speeding down the straight away,
The eternal path, narrow, but well-marked
By His treading feet.

Graders moving rocks aside,
Smoothing the way,
His gentle voice calming hearts.

Airplanes soaring up and over mountains,
His lifting, climbing,
Carrying all who come to him upward.

Yes, all things can remind us of Him,
When we look through the lens of spiritual lives
At mortality.

Cerita M. Hewett
September 20, 2015

Easter Hymn


The Savior in Gethsemane,
And on the cross of Calvary,
Paid all my debts,
And set me free.

By this great gift I surely go,
Forward and upward day by day,
To live, to serve, to see my way
Back to my Father’s home.

With gratitude I bow my head,
And now remember what Christ said,
For all mankind my blood I shed,
Come follow me, rise from the dead.

Cerita M. Hewett
March 28, 2013

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

Mountains to Climb

ecuador mountain

We can see clearly
Massive mountains to be climbed,
Not so clearly the preparation.
The time, the effort,
The knowledge, the skill,
They will require.

We usually need some smaller,
Practice hills before we
Take on a mammoth mountain.

May we conquer many mounds,
And feel happy,
Then, when we start our mountain climb,
We will find that this towering alp is mostly,
One rise after another.

May we feel our strength growing,
As we climb and stand on knolls,
Stamina built on ridges,
Will be there to sustain us
All the way to the top.
And then after many months, sense the joy of a
View from the summit of a towering mountain.

Cerita M. Hewett
October 29, 2015


pork loin dinner

(for Joann & David)

I made pork loin for our family
And thought of Joanne and David,
We went to their home
For occasional church potluck suppers.

They made pork loin supreme,
The group brought the sides,
All was served on china with glass,
Set on tables with clothes.

No plastic containers in sight,
Everything in its special dish or bowl,
But more than this
I’ll always remember…

The open door, the welcome,
The kindness, the laughter,
The gentle touch,
The conversation so that…

No one ever wanted to leave,
The reluctant good byes,
The friendship extended to each one,
The mastered art of entertaining.

                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                               August 10, 2015


a softball field at night after a game with the lights on.

Rake lines now covered the infield
Like a newly harrowed farm field,
Lights glared down over
Un-run base paths and
Silent benches stood at attention.

Ten-thirty p.m.
The evening breeze kicked up a bit of powder
Near third base
Wafting it into left field.
My cooled face no longer
Dripped sweat.

Lakeview park was closed,
But I stood on the top bleacher
Savoring the victory
Looking out over a deserted
Brown and green

                                                                        Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                        (revised 2014)

Time Out

               Woman with crutches

                I have experienced a few “time outs” in life,
                Some illness or injury that took me out of the active game,
                A loss or disappointment that paused my busy days,
                These “breaks” have been well springs of deeper reflection,
                Benevolent “rests” in my perpetual music and dance. 

                Though uncomfortable, even painful,
                They have enriched my soul and drawn me
                Closer to friends,
                Closer to my family,
                Closer to the Lord.

                They have made me more compassionate,
                A stronger, more joyous player.

Cerita M. Hewett
March 2013


                                Family Canoe River                                    The trees,
                                                   The canoe,
                                                               The paddles,
                                                                        The people 

                                             Shimmered in the still,
                                                      Clear as a looking glass
                                                               July water of Ratcliff Lake. 

                                             I sat on the shore,
                                                      Marveling at the
                                                               Duplicated images.
                                                                        Like the spirit and the body.



                                                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                               August 4, 2014