I Hope

Tree in bloom along the river last evening

Mom was looking through my bookshelf while she was visiting and showed me a volume of poetry she had received from her mother on November 3, 1943. She was eleven years old and was in Toronto General Hospital for a tonsillectomy at the time. The book, Aunt Hattie's Place, was written by a Canadian poet, Edna Jacques. She wrote poems about nature, home, the World War and various people, with simple language that demonstrated her love of beauty and virtue. I particularly liked this poem.

Lungwort in bloom. I got this from Grandma's garden over 20 years ago

I Hope

I hope that I shall never get
So old, that pinks or mignonette
Will fail to stir within my veins
Some answering call- or April rains
Washing down azure skies will bring
No quickening rapture of the spring.

I hope that I shall never see
Pale blossoms bursting on a tree
With jaded eyes...or fail to catch
My breath in wonder at a hatch
Of chickens with small pointed bills
Yellow as April daffodils.

And little fir trees lifting up
Pale hands towards the sky's blue cup,
And old folks with their dim old eyes
Looking toward the sunset skies,
Life's loveliness...work...laughter...tears,
Giving me beauty through the years.

Becka and Dakota look over the river