My Grandma was a very clever woman. She could make necklaces out of old milk jug tubes, little village homes out of cockle burrs, dresses for my dolls out of scraps. She was wonderful. She also had a fantastic imagination.
My Mom told me about the time my Grandma wrote in to a contest for a jingle (I think it was for cereal/oatmeal or something?). My Grandma sang this song to me, as did my Mom, and now I sing it to my kids. I wonder if my Mom knows that I still remember it. I'm sure my Grandma does, as she is with my each time I sing to my kids when I tuck them in at night. It is my borrowed art for the day. I don't think Grandma would mind.
As I was walking to school one morn,
A birdie I did spy.
I walked quite close,
and what do you 'spose,
a tear was in his eye.
As I was standing and waiting there,
I'm sure he meant good-bye.
For summer was o'er and autumn near,
and winter on its way.
Well I walked on and the bird he flew,
where to I do not know.
But I do hope we'll meet again,
when gone's the ice and snow.
—Olga Schultz
Monday, April 13, 2009
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1 comment:
What a poignant tradition to hand down to your children! Yes, poetry is art, too.
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