a return of the thanks back to you

Thanks for your reply.

I saw the article in the trib: my, you’re good looking!

I’ll try to attach a poem I wrote last weekend.

Blessings to you and your friends! alan



Pride for prayers they never get to hear

The kindnesses you gave me decades or weeks ago,
I’m treasuring them now. You dear.
Tho I can’t tap out emails, I send thoughts of thanks that you cannot hear.

35 years of treatment, & the old boy still does have the blues.
Today he’s feeling better in his head, wondering what it was the Isley Brothers said.

When you’re down & feel like giving up, it’s the pride.
When you’re sick, maybe on the street, it’s the pride.
It’s the pride that keeps you goin on. It’s the pride.

71 years alive, your children sometimes feel like a weight
you can’t hold.
Yet you cough up what support you can, tho you’re old.
You honor yourself anyway, loving them less than perfectly.
Or you hit the brain stroke
and can only gesture with an eyelid, so much work.
It’s the pride one afternoon makes you go for broke ,
and blink like a child.

When your loved one, and loved ones died it’s the pride.
It’s the pride polishes your memories, inside today,
that carries them tomorrow.
And when your pride evaporates to thin and gone, it’s the pride.
It’s the worth of your love starts you on again, from a hollow emptiness.

Could be before you expire, you’ll give
one last caring gasp of fire.
It will be the pride,
a value for the love of what’s outside you,
still occasionally scraping itself, still popping itself up
from the momentary ego that you were.

* * * * *

Alan, all i can say to your great poem is EXACTLY!

would you like to be on my email community, THE E-SALON?

In Freedom,
Frank Moore