Poetry from the Generations 

Thinking of You
        by Velma M. Carlson

 

I was thinking of you, dear son.
I was all alone. ‘Twas setting sun.
It was sort of lonesome, quiet and still.
My thoughts were with you, and my
Heart was filled with a longing to see you.
To chat awhile
And then, I saw you, “a little child”
I sat by the window where I always write
And gazed at the old trees. ‘Twas a
Beautiful sight.
The leaves all turning red and yellow.
Then I thought of you as a little fellow.
How you’d climb in the highest limb on
That tree, always shouting for me to see.
Blue overalls, and feet that were bare –
How plainly I still see you, sitting there.
Swinging your legs, and singing with glee;
“That dear little boy, who used to be”
Remember the rabbits, white mice, and goat?
And the time that you and Carl made a
Boat?
Remember the Camp you and Lenny made?
And how
I sewed an old curtain for shade?
Remember the Club house
Where all your friends met?
And had such good times when outside was wet?
Remember Alley, and Warren, and Dick?
Carl and Lenny, so full of tricks?
And the day? Carl and you had a duet upstairs?
That old violin is still hanging up there.
The old catcher’s glove, your bat and balls,
Are things which adorn the attic walls.
Remember the goat and the little gig? How you
All used to ride around in that rig?
A harness was made, but how, I don’t know
And the goat would pull you wherever
You’d go.
And then you grew up, your childhood had
Passed.
For me, it went by altogether too fast.
My two little boys were youngsters no more.
They had grown to manhood, and gone to war.
My day seems so long, but again at night,
I talk to each and to each I write
(“God bless you son, and remember, Mother
loves you, Dear, as no other.
Don’t get sick. Be sure and write.
And I guess I’ve written all for tonight.”
As time goes on, I live for that day when
All of our boys come home to stay.
When the world will be free to live again
With peace and freedom in every land.
Dear God, look down from heaven above.
Guide and protect those lads we love.
And someday soon, it can’t be long
This war will cease.  There’ll be laughter
And song.
Our boys will come home.  We’ll all be together,
No matter the clouds, nor the stormy weather.
There’ll be freedom of speech in every land’
We’ll all walk together hand in hand.
Four children will live in a land that’s free.
And they will be climbing the “old oak tree”
To the highest limb and then they’ll yell.
But never you mind, their Gramma won’t tell.
For we will be seeing those lads years before
And she’ll be so happy then evermore.

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