Poems...

Here are a couple of poems I found online that I wanted to share.... 

 DON"T CRY

unknown author

Daddy please don't look so sad
Mommy please don't cry
Cause I am in the arms of Jesus
and He sings me lullabies.

Please try not to question God
Don't think He is unkind
Don't think he sent me to you
And then he changed his mind

You see, I am a special Child
And I am needed up above
I'm the special gift you gave him
The product of your love

I'll always be there with you
And watch the sky at night
Find the brightest star that's gleaming
That's my eyes shining bright

You'll se me in the morning frost
That mists your windowpane
That's me, in the summer showers
I'll be dancing in the rain

When you feel a gentle breeze
From a gentle wind that blows
That's me! I'll be there
Planting a kiss upon your nose

When you see a child playing
And your heart feels a little tug
That's me! I'll be there
Giving your heart a hug

So, Daddy please don't look so sad
Mommy don't you cry
I'm in the arms of Jesus
And He sings me lullabies

My Mom is a Survivor

Kaye Des'Ormeaux

My Mom is a survivor,
or so I've heard it said.
But I can hear her crying at night
when all others are in bed.
I watch her lie awake at night
and go to hold her hand.
She doesn't know I'm with her
to help her understand.
But like the sands on the beach
that never wash away...
I watch over my surviving mom,
who thinks of me each day.
She wears a smile for others...
a smile of disguise!
But through Heaven's door I see
tears flowing from her eyes.
My mom tries to cope with death
to keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her knows
it is her way to survive.
As I watch over my surviving mom
through Heaven's open door...
I try to tell her that angels
protect me forevermore.
I know that doesn't help her...
or ease the burden she bears.
So if you get a chance, go visit her...
and show her that you care.
For no matter what she says...
no matter what she feels.
My surviving mom has a broken heart
that time won't ever heal.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM
By Terry Kettering
There’s an elephant in the room.
It is large and squatting,
so it is hard to get around it.
Yet we squeeze by with,
“How are you?” and, “I’m fine,”
and a thousand other forms of trivial chatter.
We talk about the weather;
we talk about work;
we talk about everything else—
except the elephant in the room.
There’s an elephant in the room.
We all know it is there.
We are thinking about the elephant
as we talk together.
It is constantly on our minds.
For, you see, it is a very big elephant.
It has hurt us all, but we do not talk about
the elephant in the room.
Oh, please, say her name.
Oh, please, say “Barbara” again.
Oh, please, let’s talk about
the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about her death,
perhaps we can talk about her life.
Can I say, “Barbara” to you
and not have you look away?
For if I cannot,
then you are leaving me alone
in a room—with an elephant.