cheryl davis miller Poems

It's not of works but grace I find,
I testify.
This knowledge comforts heart and mind,
until I die.
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While driving today I looked up to see
the naked arms of a sycamore tree.
As my eyes beheld the bare arm beauty
a whirlwind of thoughts did occur to me.
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I wear a plain white suit
start fresh ev'ry mornin'
Wear white gloves on my hands
for much more than warmin'
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I turned around and you had grown up.
I wondered where the years had flown?
Where were the golden curls and dimples
the chubby hands that I had known.
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For any who have been concerned
I haven’t run off yet.
There’s times I’ve thought about it
you can safely bet.
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I looked out to see the sunlight dance,
across ice and snow today.
I could not help but speak the word's,
'Snow please go away.'
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I was spending the night at Grandma's place.
It was in the spring of the year.
Tucked snuggly beneath homemade quilts.
Memories bring my eyes, to tears.
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From my window each day I see,
a world that seems to by-pass me.
Watch with longing the passer's-by,
yet cannot find courage to try,
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Grandma was born in eighteen-ninty-eight
she remembered the Titanic well.
As children we loved it when she'd take time
the Titanic’s sad story to tell.
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Daddy said he was a Gypsy
he loved to ride the rails.
He would fill our heads with stories
of his wild Gypsy tales.
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