I Love…

loveI love my mother.
         Her sparkling, laughing, blue eyes often read,
         She easily made the most wonderful bread,
         She knew how to listen to what I said.

I love my gray sweater.
         Soft, warm, and worn,
         Pulled over my head looking old and forlorn,
         I’ll keep on wearing it though it is torn.

I love the color blue.
         On white Florida sand, the azure gulf rises,
         Blue skies, blueberry pie, Roger’s blue eyes,
         And blue butterflies.

I love to go to the mountains to roam.
         In summer away from our hot Texas home,
         Wading in cold streams won’t cause me to moan,
         Though building rock dams can chill one to the bone.

I love children.
         Tall, short, skinny, fat,
         Those who giggle, cry, and pout,
         The runners, the jumpers, and the sitters about.

I love reading and writing.
         Learning from poems, stories, and books,
         I like to see how my ideas look,
         Written on a page of my very own book.

I love baked potatoes.
         Covered with butter, chives, and sour cream,
         Topped with cheese, chili, olives, it will seem,
         Like something that came from your very best dream.

I love Roger sweet and true.
         Sailing on the lake so blue
         Working with an untried crew,
         Always, always, making do.

Cerita M. Hewett
About 1994 revised 2002


Square paper box, a top view                       Poetry,

                                Is a series of

                                         Unopened boxes,

                                                 Nestled inside each other.


                           Boxes which

                                    Gently open,

                                             One by one,

                                                    When repeatedly read aloud with

                                                               Someone you love.

                                                                                                          Cerita M. Hewett                                                                                                          January 30, 1999


                Quiet room.
Time for
               Thoughts to bloom.
Not quick
              Snatched from an hour,
But long
             Big book power.
       S o f t
             To hold the head.
      Turned off
             No calls to heed.
A gift
       Of time
             To sit and READ.

Cerita M. Hewett
About 1998