A Little Help from my Friends

Roses are red
Violets are Blue
I sure wish I could write poetry
Just like you

So whom do I turn to for
Expertise and advice
Keats, Dickinson, Frost, or…
Let’s roll the dice!

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
A raven landed on my shoulder, like an elf
Screaming, “Let’s get going.
That poem won’t write itself.”

Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me
But I shooshed him away with a flick of my wrist
Sat down with my thoughts
And started writing the gist

Into the valley of death rode the six hundred
Became my rallying cry
Spurring me on
And while typing away, I’m thinking Oh My!

The time has come’ the walrus said, to talk of many things’
Of who you be
And where you’ve been
And what you mean to-me.

By the shore of Gitchie Gumee, by the shining Big-Sea-Water
Is from where I know you came
Playing in forests, resting in branches high. Alas…
I think that I shall never see, a poem lovely as a tree.

Two roads diverged in a wood-and; you took the one less travelled
By marrying Nels Jonnes, my Dad
Traveling the world over and creating a home
Which has made me very glad

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet
Is how I think of you all right
A blossom of wisdom, strength, and fortitude reminding me
Do not go gentle into that good night.

And at times when scared or lonely despite
An Ode to a Grecian Urn
Whenever…
Water, water everywhere and all the boards did shrink
I think of you my mother dear

But thoughts have trouble becoming the spoken word
Although my poem has tried, with a phrase
I’ll let a better woman sum it up
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways