Poetry

The following poems may not be copied in any form or used for any purpose whatsoever. These poems are for your enjoyment only!!

This poem was written in 1961 by Catherine Winchester, great-grandmother of Scott Helmers, in honor of her great-grandchildren.

Great-Grandchildren

Little girl with a parasol
Queen of the street you now survey.
Talking to self of dolls and swings,
Perhaps a moon with which to play.
Little boy with plastic horn
Calling your toys in line, to race
Through the whipped-cream clouds,
To the moon in blue starred space.
Little tot with quizzical face
Meeting friends in nursery books
Laughing at kittens lapping milk, the cow
Jumping high, while moon-man looks.
Little three as you look and dream,
Time runs fast; perhaps too soon
You will man a ship, fly through space...
Meet pioneers when you reach the moon.

This poem was also written by Catherine Winchester for her granddaughter, Patricia Winchester Hanowell.

Grandmother's Memory Chest

Where are the days when youth rode high
Upon adventure, when the hurdle of propriety
Was jumped and in the distance a cry,
As hounds of desire grappled with society?
Where are the days when smugness tried to charm
An age, whose cheek lacked the touch of vermillion;
A stolen kiss was hall-marked with harm;
And love played hide and seek at a youth's cotillion?
In my memory chest, I packed away,
For my granddaughter to use in her modern way.

MODERN SHEPHERDS

The ancient shepherds watched their flocks by night
And yet their eyes were fastened on a star.
Their hearts with love were blazoned by its light
And yet they never knew the ages’ scar.
Our modern shepherds walk the desert sand
In arctic wastes where winds are never kind,
They keep their watch because they love a land
Where men are free to live and think and find
The right to worship as they will in peace.
In foxhole mud they planned for days unborn
When nations should be one and hatreds cease,
And brotherhood be purged of racial scorn.
On crook or gun the shepherd still relies,
And still to starward lifts his searching eyes.
By Catherine Winchester

BUTTONED WITH A STAR

To whom does the sky belong ?
A rich man once inquired;
Surely to me for a royal hood
To wear and be admired.
To whom does the sky belong ?
A beggar cried in fear;
And quick the answer came:
For you I shed a tear.
To whom does the sky belong ?
Asked children near and far;
To those who wear the robe of love
Close buttoned with a star.
By Catherine Winchester

DIRTY FACE ANGEL
Little Angel with a dirty face,
Whatever caused you to fall from grace?
With your silver wings and halo bright,
Your place is above in the realm of light.
Did you just go flying to and fro
And get mixed up in this world below?
Was it some mischief or earthly sin
That got you into the trouble you’re in?
If you just repent and trust God’s Grace,
He will wipe the grime from your dirty face.
A penitent prayer can make things right,
And your life can again be bright.
By Catherine Winchester

My Grandmother
My red-headed grandmother took off for Cork
Looking for ancestors all.
She visited the castles, the churches and farms
And kissed the Blarney Stone too.
Looking for Wallace's, Smalley's and others.
All ancestors she longed to know.
Why, oh why, did she not tell me what she found
For I come from those ancestors too!!
By Lois Venoy-Helmers

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