Sleep, sleep for the sun has gone,
Sleep, sleep now our play is done,
Sleep, sleep after we pray,
Sleep, sleep at the end of day.
Rest, rest little arms and legs,
Rest, rest each strong muscle begs,
Rest, rest tiny ears, sparkling eyes,
Rest, rest as the night time flies.
Peace, peace from the day’s fast whirl,
Peace, peace for your tiny world,
Peace, peace in your heart of mirth,
Peace, peace in your home on earth.
Cerita M. Hewett
March 28, 2009
I like the bells!
Not everybody likes them
But I like the bells.
No they don’t play a discernable tune,
They mostly ‘cling’ and ‘clang’,
Sounding early and throughout the day.
Yet against a background of whining car alarms,
The clamor of Taxi horns,
And the guttural grinding of bus gears,
The bells are cheerful music to my ears.
Cerita M. Hewett
August 20, 2010
____________________________
Campanas de iglesia en Guayaquil
Me gusta las campanas!
Todo el mundo no les gustan,
Pero a mi me gustan las campanas.
No, no tocan una melodía discernible,
En su mayoría solo ‘cling’ y ‘clang’,
Sonando temprano y durante todo el día.
Sin embargo contra el fondo de las quejas de las
alarmas de las coches,
El clamor de los pito de taxi,
Y el gutural rechinar de engranajes del bus,
Las campanas son una música alegre para mis oídos.
Cerita M. Hewett
20 de agosto de 2010
The two long stemmed,
White rose buds,
I was given in the temple,
Stood in my catsup bottle vase,
For several days,
Improving our apartment with
Their delicate beauty.
One of them unfolded,
Little by little and let forth
A lovely delicate perfume,
Then dropped her head,
Her yellow center seeds and
Soft petals gradually fell upon the table.
The other stayed as a bud,
She never opened so I tried,
To inspire her with fresh water,
And a new clean cut along her stem,
But she refused to open,
Gradually growing brown,
First around the edges and then her center,
Until I gave her up to the waste basket.
Remembering both the fully opened all giving ose,
And the brown holding back unfulfilled bud,
Who both expired,
I wonder at our opened
Or unopened hearts, gifts, powers,
That bless or never fully develop
To gladden our lives and others.
Cerita M. Hewett
Sept. 28, 2009
It would be nice to take a walk
With you in our woods today
Among the pines,
Oaks,
Sassafras,
Sweet gum,
Dogwood.
The pathways wind
Gently through the trees,
Who have on their most
Elegant fall dresses,
The air is crispy cool.
I think we would enjoy the walk
And once again some time together.
Cerita M. Hewett
November 23, 2014
The odd shaped pool was
Large enough for good swimming,
The water clear and cool,
Not cold,
We swam for thirty minutes,
Roger even dived a couple of times,
I also did a few
Aerobic exercises in the water.
Maggie said it made her
Feel like she was twenty,
It is true,
To feel twenty,
Just go swimming,
Everything seems to
Work right while in the water,
The joints, the muscles,
Even the brain and heart.
On land I am seventy,
But in the water,
Twenty!
Cerita M. Hewett
June 25, 2009
I spackled in the boys’ room today,
Years after our boys ceased to lounge there,
Putting soft white plaster over tiny holes,
And smoothing it off with a small metal spatula,
Filling in all the cavities and mars in the pale blue walls,
Preparation, long over due, for painting the room.
Nail holes, pin holes, tack holes, clustered low,
Just about three feet up from the worn carpet,
Then a batch higher and denser at about four and a half feet,
And last of all holes grouped more sparsely at the six-foot level.
I don’t recall what they hung on those walls but,
I do remember the sweet smell of their freshly bathed bodies,
And the beguiling melody of
“Good night Mama.”
Cerita M. Hewett
Revised June 6, 2007
What is better than a
Digging hole for brothers?
Trucks, cars, graders,
Plastic army men, cowboys, Indians,
Spoons escaped from
A kitchen drawer.
Access to water!
Boys playing side by side
In the shade of a tree,
Constructing,
Deconstructing,
In the sand,
In the dirt,
In the muddy water.
Nothing!
Cerita M. Hewett
October 21, 2015
O woman of 1776 what was your pain, your travail,
What mighty labor did you perform,
When freedom’s child was born?
We know of Martha Washington how she came to Valley Forge,
Of Jane Adams’ sacrifice and her kindly charm,
But what of the women of ‘76 in the cottage or on the farm?
How did you farm with your man at war,
Did you milk with the boys away,
Who sheared the long wool from your sheep on shearing day?
Could you send the news of the baby born,
The daughter or son so fair,
Did you choose a name he would have liked, if he’d been there?
As you knit the socks and cared for the child,
Did you long for the battle line,
Could you imagine the glory of America free in time?
What news did you hear from Valley Forge,
Or the river Delaware,
Was the battle won or lost and how did your loved one fare?
Who helped you open the shop each morn,
Who sold the goods, counted the pay,
Did you sweep the floor before you “closed” for the day?
As you lighted the lamps when the night was near,
Could you hear the cannon roar,
Were you trembling to know how close they came to your family door?
What did your heart feel day on day,
Did it hold both fear and faith,
How did you bear the somber news of a dear one’s wound or death?
On the first of the week as you went to your church,
Did you sing and think and pray,
Did your heart cry out to Him all through the Sabbath day?
There’s not much written about you my dear,
The history pages are thin,
But when men fight for freedom true, the women must help to win!
Oh woman of 1776 you minded the shop and the farm,
You loved and cared for the children small,
You worked, you prayed, you did it all!
So when he came if that he could,
That loved one all battle worn,
He found you and the children, safe at home.
Cerita M. Hewett
July 1976 (revised 2015)
The first blueberries go
Plink, plink, plink,
But after the bottom of the
Pail is covered,
We can barely hear the
Soft plop, plop, plop.
The bushes lose their blues,
But our white teeth turn azure.
In the nearby rows,
The children pick, eat, and play.
The sun warms up,
So we pick on the shady side,
Plop, plop, plop, plop, plop.
At eleven o’clock we
We take off our hats,
Wipe our brows,
Weigh out.
Licking our blue teeth we start for home.
Sweetly ever so sweetly.
It is a good thing that
They only weigh the fruit.
Cerita M. Hewett
June 2014
We love rain in desert Arizona.
The smell as it quiets the dust,
Bringing a coolness to the sky and city,
Seeing it soak and steam on the sidewalks,
Feeling wetness as we stretch our fingers out
To touch tiny moist raindrop miracles.
Rain, noble rain!
In Arizona,
In June.
Cerita M. Hewett
June 5, 2015
Revised July 6, 2015