Balance
Be modest and humble;
There's no cruder substance
In the world than in you.
Aspire, be confident;
There's no finer substance
In the world than in you.
Solomon F. Gingerich
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Poems
A Tree Crisis
One summer day I saw a scraggy tree
That stood alone in a drouth-stricken land.
Its boughs though starkly gaunt still valiantly
Defied the desert wind and flying sand.
Now why did Nature's laws demand it strive
Forlornly to outlive death-dealing drouth,
Its roots strike deep for moisture in the earth,
Its sparse leaves gasp for air hot from the south?
Today that tree stands in a rain-drenched land,
Symmetrical and fair beyond belief.
It dominates the landscape far and wide,
Its leaves proclaim from drouth a sweet relief.
That tree now stands a symbol of the strength
That rescued life from out the jaws of death,
A glory to the dwellers in that land,
A power and grace that fairly hold your breath.
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Summer Rain
A flash of lightning hurts my eyes, A peal of thunder strikes my ears, As night the earth begins to shroud— They fill my heart with restless fears. An inky darkness settles down, Cut sharply by a lightning flash; Then blackness covers all again, Until there comes another crash!
Large raindrops now begin to fall, Then fast they fall and still more fast; They overflow the parched earth, Until they seem a deluge vast. I hold my breath, but think of how All things that grow will have new life, The corn a golden harvest yield, The fields with fruit and flowers rife.
The storm roars on into the night; At last I sink in slumber deep, And when at morn I wake again, The sun's rays through my window peep. All things outdoors are washed in gold, All things in breathless beauty furled; A Paradise I look upon In this new lovely, wondrous world.
Who’s Afraid?
O little squirrel in the tree, Why are you looking down at me? My Daddy says that you have charm, I wouldn't do you any harm.
If you come down and we can meet, I'll give you this big nut to eat. And now you're climbing down the tree, I see you're not afraid of me.
But you are coming pretty near, And I am getting full of fear. O shall I run, or shall I stay?— But now—from me you shy away!—
The Moon
I love the moon when it is new, As it peeps out from evening blue; I love it more when by its side The Evening Star shines like a bride.
I love the moon with golden rim, It looks so pretty and so trim. But when half full it has more worth,— It sheds more light upon the earth.
But round and full I love it best, All night it shines from east to west; Its quiet face looks down on us, And asks why all this noise and fuss.
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