To My Sister Poem by Spock the Vegan

My sister writes her poems
of the life that she is livin'
She writes of people, places, things,
of memories once given.
Her poems capture feelings,
Her poems capture life,
but never tell of anger,
and never talk of strife.

She loves all things in nature,
soaring eagle, hooting owl.
She pinned me to the bed
when my tongue was mean and foul.
She taught me to be good and kind,
and drink the bitter cup.
She made me promise that I would
before she let me up.

She has touched the misty moonlight
and the shady mountain glen,
and caressed the golden meadow
with her ever-flowing pen.
She has talked of things that have gone by,
of home-made fudge and U.F.O.
She has told us of our loved ones,
and set our hearts aglow.

She writes of babies, fathers, mothers,
sunsets swirling pink.
She captures precious moments,
and saves them in her ink.
She writes of blossoms budding out,
of flowers on the hill.
She tells of fishes in the pond,
and the vacant Glenwood mill.

Her poetry is wonderful,
her poems are so fine.
She writes of Rewards Royal,
and Dividends Divine.
She writes of pretty flowers,
Marigold and Daffodil,
and captures all the freshness
in the liquid of her quill.

How I wish that I could emulate
her wisdom and her grace,
and follow her to Heaven,
and again behold His face!
How I wish that I could capture
but a portion of her skill,
and write of people, places, things,
and always do His will.

Did she forgive me for the evil
and the meanness of my ways?
Will she forever pay me tribute,
and always give me praise?
Will she continue to remember
only happy things, not hate?
Will she continue now to guide me
up and through the pearly gate?

She has raised her seven daughters,
nearly perfect, every one,
slow to anger, slow to marry,
but they'll all get the job done.
When mother went to Heaven
she was there to clean and cook.
She writes of Robins in the tree,
and of the babbling brook.

Will she write of things that are to come,
of peasants, kings, and crowds?
Will she write of Jesus coming
and descending from the clouds?
Will she write about the evil
and destruction that's no fun,
or only of the greater love
and kindness of the Son?

She has been a good example
and a model for our lives.
She has been a sister, mother, friend,
and reached out to our wives.
She has taught us some great lessons,
and here I illustrate one:
Poems
don't always
need to rhyme!
I love you my sister.