Cammie's blog: "Cammie's Poems"

Used to wonder just why father never had much time for play. Used to wonder why he'd rather work each minute of the day. Used to wonder why he never loafed along the road an' shirked can't recall a time when ever father played while others worked. Father didn't dress in fashion sort of hated clothing new style with him has not a passion, he had other things in view boys are blind to much that's going on about'em day by day, and I had no way of knowing what became of father's pay. All I knew was when I needed shoes I got'em on the spot everything for which I pleaded somehow father always got. Wondered season after season why he never took a rest and that I might be the reason then I never ever guessed. Father set a store on knowledge if he'd lived to have his way he'd have sent me off to college and the bills been glad to pay. that I knew was his ambition, now and then he used to say he'd have done his earthly mission on my graduation day. Saw his cheeks were getting paler didn't understand just why saw his body growing frailer then at last I saw him die. Rest had come his tasks were ended calm was written on his brow fathers life was big and splended adn I understand it now.

A boy and his dad on a fishing trip there is a glorious fellowship! father and son and the open sky and the white clouds lazily drifting by, and the laughing stream as it runs along with the clicking reel like a martial song, and the father teaching the youngster gay how to land a fish in the sportsman's way. I fancy I hear them talking there in an open boat and the speech is fair, and the boy is learning the ways of man from the finest man in his youthful hen, kings to the youngster can not compare with the gentle father who's with him there. and the greatest mind of the human race not for no minute could take his place. Which is happier man or boy? the soul of the father is steeped in joy, for he's finding out to his heart's delight that his son is fit for the future fight. He is learning the glorious depths of him and the thoughts he thinks and his every whim, and he shall discover when night comes on how close he has grown to his little son, a boy and his dad on a fishing trip oh I envy then, as I see them there under the sky in the open air, for out of the old old long ago came the summer days that I used to know, when I learned life's truths from my father's lips as I shared the joy of his fishing trip builders of life's companionship!

If you only knew the dreams I have of you, the things we do to each other and how happy we are. Never apart will I want to be, you are my life my heart my soul, I love you so. We are so enbraced in each others arms, we can feel each others every move and our passion is so wild that we can't let go, oh how I love you so. I can feel your heart beat next to mine and oh how that makes me sigh with pleasure and it takes away the pain in my life to know how much you love me so.

Thank you for giving me the chance to say, "I Love You" and for revealing the beautiful side of life that I never knew. You awakened a heart that was lonely and numb, and now I'm hopeful for what shall come. Never again shall I lie awake and weep, for beautiful dreams of you fill my sleep. Before I was weak, but now I own a maoutain's might because I have you and we belong tonight.

You can rig up a house with all manner of things, the prayer rugs of sultans and princes and kings, you can hang on it's walls the old tapestries rare which some dead egyptain once treasured with care, but though costly and gorgeous its furnishings are it must have to be home like, an old cookie jar. There are just a few things that a home must possess besides all your money and all your succes, a few good old books which some loved one has read, some trinkets of those whose sweet spirits have fled, and then in the pantry not shoved back too far for the hungry to get to, that old cookie jar. Let the house be a mansion, I care not at all, let the finest of pictures be hung on each wall, let the carpets be made of the richest velour, and the chairs only those which great wealth can procure, I'd still want to keep for the joy of my flock that harmony, old fashioned, well filld cookie crook, Like the love of the mother it shines through our years, it has paid us for toiling in sorrow or joy, it has always shown kindness to each girl and boy, and I'm sorry for people whoever they are, who live in a house where there's no cookie jar.

Last night Pa said to Ma, "My dear it's gittin' on to fall it's time I did a little job I do not like at all. I wish that I was rich enough to hire a man to do the durty work around this house an' clean up when he's through, but since I'm not, I'm truly glad that I am strong an' stout, an' ain't ashamed to go my self an' clean the furnace out." Then after supper Pa put on his overalls an' said, he'd work down in the cellar till twas time to go to bed, he started in to rattle an' to bang an' poke an' stir, an' the dust began a climbin up through every register till Ma said "goodness gracious go an' shut those things up tight or we'll all be suffocated an' the house will be a sight." Then he carted out the ashes in a basket an' a pail, an' from cellar door do alley he just left a ashy trail. Then he pulled apart the chimney an' twas full of something black, an' he skinned most all his knuckles when he tried to put it back, we could hear him talkin' awful an' Ma looked at us an' said "I think it would be better if you children went to be." When he came up from the cellar there were ashes in his hair. there were ashes in his eyebrows but he didn't seem to care there were ashes in his mustache, there were ashes in his eyes, an' we never would have known him if he'd took us by surprise. "Well, I got it clean," he sputtered, an' Ma said "I guess that's true, once that dirt was in the furnace but now most of it's on you."

It's bedtime and we lock the door put out the lights the day is o'er, all that can come of good or ill, the record of this day to fill is written down, the worries cease and old and young may rest in peace. We knew not when we started out what dangers hedged us all about, what little pleasuress we should gain, what should be ours to bear of pain. But now the fires are burning low and this day's history we know no harm has come. The laughter here has been unbroken by a tear, we've met no hurt to great to bear, we have not had to bow to care, the children all are safe in bed, there's nothing now for us to dread. When bedtime comes and we can say that we have safely lived the day. How sweet the calm that settles down and shuts away the noisy town, there is no danger now to fear until tomorrow shall appear. When the long bedtime comes and I in sleep eternal come to lie when life has nothing more in store, and silently I close the door, God grant my weary soul may claim security form hurt and shame.

Queerest little chap he is, always saying, "Aw Gee Whiz!" needing something from the store that you've got to send him for and you call him from his play, then it is you hear him say, "Aw Gee Whiz!" Seems that most expressive phrase is a part of childhood days. call him in at supper time, hands and face all smeared with grime, send him up to wash and he answers you disgustedly, "Aw Gee Whiz!" When it's time to go to bed and he rather play instead, as you call him from the street, he comes in with dragging feet, knowing that he has to go, then it is he mutters low, "Aw Gee Whiz!" Makes no differnce what you ask of him as a little task, he has yet to learn that life crosses many a joys with strife, so when duty mars his play, always we can hear him say, "Aw Gee Whiz!"

"Do your bit!" how cheap and trite seems that phrase is such a fright! "Do your bit! that cry recall, change it now to "Do your all! Do your all and then do more, Do what you're best fitted for, Do your utmost, do and give, you have but one life to live. Do your finest, do your best, don't let up and stop to rest, don't sit back and idly say, "I did something yesterday". Come on! here's another hour, give it all you have to power, here's another day that needs everybody's share of deeds. "Do your bit!" of course, but then do it time and time again, giving, doing all should be up to full capacity. Now's no time to pick and choose, we've a war we muct not lose. Do your duty great or small, do it well and do it all. Do by careful patient fiving, do by cheerful open giving, do by serving day by day at what ever post you may, do by sacrificing pleasure, do by scorning hours of leisure. Now to God and country give every minute that you live.

When day is done and the night slips down, and I've turned my back on the busy town, and come once more to the welcome gate where the roses nod and the children wait. I tell myself as I see them smile that life is good and its tasks worth while. When day is done and I've come once more to my quiet street and the friendly door, where the mother reigns and the children play and the kettle sings in the old-time way, I throw my coat on a near by chair and say farewell to my pack of cares. When day is done all the hurt and strife and the selfishness and the greed of life are left behind in the busy town, I've ceased to worry about renown or gold or fame and I'm just a mom content to b with her girl and her hum.