Missing You

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, You found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
"It's me, I haven't left you, I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."

I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea,
You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me.
I was with you at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore.
I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

I was with you at my grave today, You tend it with such care.
I want to re-assure you, that I'm not lying there.
I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said " it's me."

You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there.
It's possible for me, to be so near you everyday.
To say to you with certainty, "I never went away."
You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew...
In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.

The day is over... I smile and watch you yawning
and say "good-night, God bless, I'll see you in the morning."
And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I'll rush across to greet you and we'll stand, side by side.
I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.

Be patient, live your journey out...then come home to be with me.


Author ~ Missing You poem By Colleen Fitzsimmons/ In memory of Shadow & Sexy Sadie


Sorrow as a result of death(s) are affecting a number of my friends today. I happened to find this poem tucked away in an obscure file. Hopefully it will help.


Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die...


The Tale of Custard the Dragon

My nephew informed me that he was learning about poems in class. It reminded me of one of my favorite poems that I had to pull out and share with him.


By Ogden Nash

Copyright Linell Nash Smith and Isabel Nash Eberstadt

Belinda lived in a little white house, 
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse, 
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon, 
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon. 

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink, 
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink, 
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard, 
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard. 

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth, 
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath, 
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose, 
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes. 

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears, 
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs, 
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage, 
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage. 

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful, 
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival, 
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon 
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon. 

Belinda giggled till she shook the house, 
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse, 
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age, 
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage. 

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound, 
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around. 
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda, 
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda. 

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right, 
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright, 
His beard was black, one leg was wood; 
It was clear that the pirate meant no good. 

Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help! 
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp, 
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household, 
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed. 

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine, 
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon, 
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm 
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm. 

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon, 
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon, 
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit, 
And Custard gobbled him, every bit. 

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him, 
No one mourned for his pirate victim 
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate 
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate. 

Belinda still lives in her little white house, 
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse, 
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon, 
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon. 

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears, 
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs, 
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage, 
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.