Lessons From Leslie

lessonsI don’t know how many hours you sat
Beside our children at our old upright,
The one with missing key tops,
Listening to them struggle through
Their pieces for the week,
Pieces they sometimes practiced,
Still you taught the what they
Were ready to learn,
Making it fun,
No matter their talent or preparation,
Helping them to love music,
Affirming them
Not condemning their feeble attempts,
Coming to our house week after week,
Letting us work off the lessons
Or pay as we could,
Giving our children music when it was needed,
Not when we could afford it,
Music to last a lifetime,
Music for the good times and the bad,
Music written on their souls because
It was taught with love,

Cerita M. Hewett
December 2002

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

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


pondThe pond,
Built with his hands and a
Heart full of love,
Draws raccoons and fox to drink from it,
Allows minnows and frogs a swimming place,
With rocks, large, rough, black and orange,
Making sunning places for turtles, geckos, and people,

While still water provides a reflecting surface
For tall old weathered trees,
And small young bushes.
Its little waterfall
Bubbles and splashes with living water,
Available to all who come seeking it.

Cerita M. Hewett
September 21, 2015

Box of Happiness

Valentine ChocolatesYou brought a heart-shaped box of chocolates,
I don’t remember you doing this before,
It was the perfect gift this year
After so much sacrifice and service.

I opened it,
We smelled its richness,
We read all the descriptions of each specialty,
Peanut cluster, mint, caramel, pecan, vanilla nugget,

Then I suggested we each pick one to eat,
You remarked, “I bought them for you.”
I answered, “Eating alone is no fun.”

We each ate three,
Laughing, reveling, declaring their goodness,
Savoring the shared valentine moment.

Reluctantly we closed the glossy lid,
I washed the supper dishes in the glow of
Our heart-felt box of chocolate happiness.


Cerita M. Hewett
Feb. 14, 2013
Revised 2014


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!

Her Favorite Hour

Daylight Savings nap

                                       (for Alisha)


Her favorite hour of the YEAR?
Daylight Savings’ Fall Back Morning.


Nothing is planned,
No one can demand it,
Because this mythical hour,
Actually doesn’t exist,
Truly a FREE hour,
She can really sleep in.


Thank you Woodrow Wilson.
You probably didn’t think of
This unintended consequence
Of your World War I policy!

                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                               October 30, 2015


                 Autumn Lake Reflections A waterfront home in autmn, near Sandpoint, Idaho.

Sometimes when I am troubled
I wander through the photo albums of my mind
To places of peace and love.

I lie near the pine of our old backyard,
In the tall early morning grass,
Just after dew tears have dried,
 Watching mountains of marshmallow clouds drift by.

I sit on the deck of an Idaho cabin,
Where I gaze at magnificent pines,
And observe busy chipmunks,
As they open brown seeds for lunch 

I watch the flames of a campfire
Melt from dancing yellow and orange,
To a red, red glow, and
Slowly expire into flickering black embers and white ash.

I rock a baby,
Feel a soft cheek against my neck,
The pressure of dainty feet upon my leg,
A tiny hand curling round my little finger.

I perch in the sheltering rocks of a windy beach,
See the white caps forming at sea,
Watch Roger playing with the children on the shore,
Smell the salt and hear the gulls.

I gaze from a schoolroom window,
At the oaks and pecans of the woods,
Listening to the murmur of children,
Busy with reading, writing, and painting.

I stroll the temple grounds,
Pull grass spears from among the flowers beside the walk,
Sit looking up towards its towers,
Sense the trumpet’s soundless plea for peace 

Remembering through each scene,
Knowing how I have been understood and loved,
Feeling the Spirit wash my heart in a quiet hush,
Then, in the stillness, the calmness,
the silence, comes serenity.

                                                                   Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                   July 12, 2009
                                                                   (revised 2014)