WHAT WOULD YOU TAKE?

What would you take for that round curly head,
And ringlets all dangling with pink ribbons tied;
For that bright little face with a smile all lit up,
Or her two sparkling eyes when they open so wide,
What would you take?

What would you take for that little round mouth
When it pouts in displeasure or yell with delight;
As she chatters all day in her own simple way,
Or puckers her lips for a kiss at good night.
What would you take?

What would you take for her fingers so small
As you spy little marks on your paintwork so fair,
Or a dish when it falls to the floor with a crash,
Ad she looks in your eyes with a look of despair.
What would you take?

What would yo take as each day she grows up,
And toddles around on her two little feet;
When she listens at night-fall a footstep to hear
Then runs to the doorway her Daddy to greet,
What would you take?

What would yo take for her when day is done,
And she lies fast asleep in her own little cot,
As you think of her mischief, her chatter and fun,
Then whispers a prayer for your dear little tot;
Say, what would you take?

December, 1943

MOTHER'S GRACE

It's just a prayer so simple,
And it's in my memory stored
Since we were growing youngsters
Around the family board.

Around the family table
We all would take our place,
Then bow our heads in silence
While mother cited grace.

At morning, noon or evening,
Whene'er her brood were fed,
We all would wait with patience
Until the grace was said.

These memories ever linger
As now my thoughts retrace,
And live again these moments
With mother saying grace.

These days are gone forever,
And time has changed the scene
My mother now is resting
Beneath the plot so green.

But still it is a memory
That time will ne'er efface,
When we were all together
With mother saying grace.

Where ever we may wander,
What ever time or place,
May each of us remember
Our mothers saying grace.

March, 1947

TAT - TAT - TATTING

One fine spring's day my wife did say
As in my chair I sat,
There's one thing I must try to learn,
And that is, how to tat.

With her instructor soon she had
A bit of this and that,
And it was not so very long
Until she learned to tat.

And when one day she sat so quiet
I asked "What are you at?"
"Why dear" said she "I thought you knew
That I have learned to tat."

Soon she could ply her shuttle fast
Without an eyelid batting,
But oh the house it was so quiet
While she were at her tatting.

I thought she knew most everything,
As quilting, knitting, matting,
But I found out, it was not so
When my wife started tatting.

SPRING CLEANING

Spring cleaning time will soon be here,
On this I'm most emphatic,
Then everything will be disturbed
From cellar to the attic.

Housewives will don their dust caps then,
To start their overhauling,
And busy brushing cobwebs down,
Or from step ladders falling.

The vacuum cleaners soon will hum,
And dust they will be chasing,
All paintwork will be washed so clean,
The doors, the walls and casing.

The pantry shelves will all be cleaned,
The pie plates and the custard,
And everything put back in place
From pepper pots to mustard.

The winter woolies will be stored
With moth balls in the closets,
To keep the pesky little moths
From leaving their deposits.

House cleaning is a lot of work
As I have here presented,
But when the job it is well done
The housewife sleeps contented.

April, 1944

ODDS AND ENDS

When clearing out the bureau drawers
As the busy housewife cleans,
She finds a lot of odds and ends,
Let's listen as she gleans.

"Here is a recipe I had
To make my Christmas cake,
And here's a letter I received
Last year from cousin Jake."

"Here is a ball of mending wool,
A box of carpet tacks;
Some score cards used in playing bridge,
A marble and some jacks."

"An old worn deck of playing cards,
A ball of coloured twine,
My smelling salts I thought was lost;
It all turns up in time."

"How all this stuff accumulates
It's more than I can say,
But bureau drawers is just the place
For hiding things away."

BE KIND TO THY MOTHER

Be kind to your mother
You'll ne'er have another,
So cherish her while she is near;
Let no ill will or shame
Ever blight your good name,
That may bring silver threads in her hair.

In days long gone by
When you were but knee high,
On her you could always rely;
She were your best friend,
And on her would depend,
For she shared both your troubles and joy.

As the years they unfold,
And your mother grows old,
Then respect those gray locks in her hair;
Never let it be said
When her spirit has fled
That you caused her remorse or despair.

You'll ne'er find another
To replace your mother,
One who will prove true to the end;
May her old vacant chair
Never cause you a tear,
But instead, happy memories may blend.

July, 1946

PEACE

There is peace beside still waters,
And the Psalmist sang it's praise,
Where the young lambs skip and frolic,
And the lowing cattle graze.

Where the sunlit silent river
Gently flows toward the sea.
And the song birds in the willows
Sing their notes of melody.

There is peace in many a valley,
Where the farmer tills the sod,
And the rustling waving wheat fields
Speaks of nature and of God.

There is peace where sons and daughters
Live their lives in harmony,
When no discord or commotion
Mar their homes and unity.

There is peace in many a bosom
Though dull cares may press them sore;
Peace that passeth understanding;
Peace of God that shall endure.

October, 1947

DOWN BY THE SEA

It was a dark and stormy night,
The rolling waves beat on the shore;
A cottage stood beside the sea,
And salt sea spray swept by the door.

A light shone in the window bright,
'Though long had passed the hour for sleep,
A fisher's wife her vigil kept
While he were on the stormy deep.

And in his cot her baby lay
Asleep, a chubby little lad,
He were too young to know the cares
And anxious hours his mother had.

The mother kept her vigil when
The storms blew wild and waves ran high,
And prayed that God would keep him safe,
The father of her darling boy.

In many a home down by the sea
Are anxious wives and mothers too,
Great pilot of the restless deep,
Protect their kin, and bring them through.

October, 1947

LOOKING BACK

Sometimes as evening shadows fall,
And the evening star appears,
We sit in silent reverie
And think of bygone years.

Far down the road of yesterday,
Our thoughts then take their flight;
Old scenes, old friends we meet again
That long have passed from sight.

The old homestead we see again,
The family circle too,
All gathered 'round the family board
Just as they used to do.

Our past is like a book that's read,
A tale that has been told,
Our memories are life's diaries, and
Each day a page unfold.

And as we journey on through life
Sometimes we rest awhile,
And gaze far back to bygone days
When we were just a child.

I SAT BY MY WINDOW

I sat by my window when the morning was bright,
As I watched my wife hanging out washing so white,
And she was so busy with work and with care,
While I sat so helpless here in my wheel-chair.

I sat by my window, when the sun it shone high,
As the wife began taking her clothes in so dry,
And as she was ironing her laundry so fair
I felt so despondent, sitting in my wheel-chair.

I sat by my window, watched my neighbour next door
Attending his garden and doing his chore,
And I thought of the day when I was busy too,
But now I seemed useless with nothing to do.

These thoughts then came to me, and I started this poem.
"Sure I should be thankful with family, and home;
With so many blessings, why should I despair,
I should feel so lucky, to have a wheel-chair."

When we are down-hearted, and feeling so blue,
Let us count our blessings, although they be few;
And think of the sufferers, the pain they all bear
That would feel so thankful to sit in a chair.

Photo: L to R - Sons, Eric & Ches; George Frampton; wife, Ethel; daughter, Betty; Son, Roy; daughter-in-law, Eleanor

TO HELEN

Dear Sister - here's a little poem
I dedicate to you,
And may it find you in the pink
And not be feeling blue.
I hope your family all are well
And hubby feeling fine,
And when sometime you think of me
I hope you drop a line.

I never shall forget the past
When we were young and free,
I still can hear your laugh and shout
You were so full of glee.
And when I played a trick on you
Or teased your cat, then run,
Oh you were a good natured kid
You took it all in fun.

So many years has passed since then
And changes there has been,
And we are living far apart
With many miles between.
But maybe at some future date
If what you say is true,
A year or two, and then perhaps
I will be seeing you.

Photo: Helen (Frampton) Stone, sister of George Frampton

THE QUILTING BEE

One morning I heard my wife say,
This will be my shopping day;
There's some pretty cotton on
I must get before it's gone.

Later on I heard her say;
I must start my quilt today;
I have got a pattern new,
And some pretty cotton too.

Soon I heard her scissors snip
As she shaped each little bit;
Then she sorted it so true,
A bit of red, and a bit of blue.

Oh, what patience she has got,
And I know she needs a lot,
As she sewed each little bit
To the piece that it should fit.

Then one day some ladies came
When she had it in the frame,
And 'twas plain as A, B, C,
We would have a quilting bee.

Soon they stitched, and as they sat,
Talked of this, and talked of that;
All was happy as could be
When we had that quilting bee.

When the job it was well done,
My wife thanked them everyone;
Then she made us all some tea,
And that ended the quilting bee.

THE BUSY HOUSEWIFE

Did you ever stop to ponder
What a housewife has to do?
Many are her household duties,
And I'll try to name a few.

She is up betimes each morning
And the breakfast she prepare,
Ready for her daily routine,
And another day of care.

Washing, ironing, knitting, sewing,
Bringing groceries from the store.
Baking, scrubbing, sweeping, dusting,
Shaking rugs 'til arms are sore.

Answering phone calls, and the door bell
Keeps her running to and fro,
Breadman, milkman, boy with paper
All comes looking for their 'dough'.

Chasing dust with vacuum cleaner,
Sweeping up the basement floor,
Brushing leaves from off the pavement,
Cleaning brasswork on the door.

Nursing Junior through his illness
Making up the family beds,
Cleaning paintwork, washing dishes,
Listening when the postman treads.

Getting ready for some social,
Or Red Cross work she may do,
Working for the church's needy
Helping with the faithful few.

When at last she seeks her pillow
And beside her bed she pray,
She may breathe a prayer in silence
For some loved one far away.

Yes, the housewives that are thrifty
All who toil each day so hard,
In this world or in the next, they
All deserve a just reward.

MOTHER'S CAKE

When we see our Mom get ready,
And she says she's going to bake;
Then we know just by her actions
She is going to bake a cake.

First she gets the flour ready,
And whatever else it takes;
Then she sings a little ditty
While she's mixing up her cake.

Then she mixes all together,
Stirs until her arms do ache;
And we all keep off a distance
While Mom's mixing up her cake.

Then she sets it in the oven,
When it is prepared to bake;
Soon we sniff the rich aroma
Coming from her flavoured cake.

Then when it is baked and ready,
From the oven she will take;
And we all have such a longing
For a piece of Mother's cake.

When it is cooled off so nicely,
Then the icing she will make,
And she lays it on so even
All around her dainty cake.

When she sets the dinner table,
And we all our places take;
We are sure to leave an opening
For a piece of Mother's cake.

When she serves us all a helping,
We are very much awake;
And it pays her for her labour,
When we praise her tempting cake.

You may talk about your tid bits
That gives you the 'tummy' ache;
But there's nothing half as tasty
As a piece of Mother's cake.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I know a winsom little girl
Just two years old; not three,
She has the cutest little curl,
Her name is Valerie.

Her birthday comes this time each year,
When signs of spring we see,
It give good cheer when spring is near,
And also Valerie.

As early dew drops in the sun,
Or on a budding tree,
Her eyes they sparkle in her fun
Vivacious Valerie.

She trots around the house at play
As busy as a bee,
And chatters all the livelong day,
The toddler Valerie.

She has a smile for young and old
Including you and me,
I doubt if all her weight in gold
Would buy Miss Valerie.

May she grow up to womanhood,
From every snare kept free,
And like her parents always good,
Young winsome Valerie

March 23, 1949
(Valerie's Birthday)