Anna E. Honig

My beautiful boy with eyes so brown, And golden curls adorning his head. I felt so proud when I took him down Through the streets, and smiled at all he said.

I spent three years of greatest pleasure, With this wonderful baby of mine, He the most precious earthly treasure I had ever known so genuine.

But when it pleased God to claim His own, He sent for my treasure to be brought; Then all my hopes to heaven had flown With the purest, though yearning thought.

Over a period of some years Sadly I missed the star of our home, The sunshine was so faint through my tears, Though peace to my heart from God had come.

Yet long after my child had been gone In anguish I gazed up to the sky, And then through the window I looked down, What I saw on the ground made me cry.

The dear little shoe-tracks in the mud Perfectly these tracks their shape had kept; My grief bursted forth like a cloud As I looked at the tracks, and wept.

These shoe tracks remained until the rain Obliterated them from my sight, And though they caused me severest pain Memory of them is a delight.

These same little shoes are put aside Among my keep-sakes so dear to me; And his portrait brings him to my side, Like in the dear days, that used to be.

It is singular and quite odd, How we form habits unaware. Some of which we duly applaud If with others the good we share.

When each birthday I recognized, With a delicious birthday cake— I never fully realized How many cakes I had to bake.

My husband’s mother kept the date Of his birth, and made him a cake. This custom, thus to celebrate I decided never to break.

And so for very many years I baked him a large raisin cake, Fond retrospection somewhat cheers, Yet it brings a pang of heartache.

Father was called to realms above, The sons have married, but I know Birthday cakes that were baked with love, On memory’s page oft will glow.

These cakes with fond recollection, For each birthday during the year With various decoration, Furnished six days of joy most dear.

One ornamented with a kewpie, Another with a bisque giraffe. I never used anything droopy, For I enjoyed hearing folks laugh.

One edged with pennies I recall, Firecrackers for July birthday. The strawberry wheel, rivaled all For the birthday that came in May.

I just wish that I might retrace The many unique birthday cakes, See the bright eyes, of each one’s face Glowing with joy, free from heartaches.

Quite a dear old household treasure, This rock-a-bye cane seated chair; No arms to bump the baby’s head As we rocked with restful pleasure. Our darling babe so sweet and fair Liked this chair better than her bed.

The rock-a-bye chair served as well For a horse and buggy, or train, As it did to rock babes to sleep. Of the joy rides I'd like to tell As they come rushing through my brain, But my heart o’erflows and I weep.

Memories sweet, are also sad As the dear past I would relate. The baby hands holding so fast To mother’s eardrops, as she had, When the rickety rocking rate Became too rough for her at the last.

This old rocking chair now has squeaks, But still seems to accommodate As the favorite chair for all; And in its creaking to us speaks. We all choose it, as if ’twas fate Our childhood again to recall.

Rock-a-bye chair and mother’s lap, With the children we loved to hear As they gleefully rocked away. The switch with its sharp playful snap; The noise of laughter sweet and clear Would be a welcome sound today.

Rock-a-bye chair though very old Conveniently stands ready, For the folks and all of their friends To rest in real comfort they’re told. The old chair is strong and steady, And to our home distinction lends.