by Lucy M. Edmunds
In winter the sun is a sleepyhead He stays in bed so late, and then I hardly get back home from school Before he's back in bed again! He hurries through the day so fast He doesn't even warm my nose. I wish he'd stop a little while And try to warm my cold, red toes. But then, I s'pose he must go on So other boys and girls can play. I shouldn't call him sleepyhead, 'Cause where he is it's always day.
by Lucy M. Young
It had been warm that fall,
There had been very little frost.
The grass was lush and green in all the meadows.
The leaves, 'though shot with gold and scarlet,
Clung tightly to the branches,
And by Columbus Day, the farmers had not yet brought home
the young stock
From the summer pasture on the mountain.
That night, October twelfth, without warning it turned cold.
The clouds built up with ominous intent.
A strong, cold north wind whistled 'round the chimneys
and the windows,
Then snowflakes started falling thick and fast.
All night it snowed.
The wind piled drifts of snow around the buildings.
The roads were clogged, we huddled in our homes.
Our thoughts and prayers were ever with the cattle
on the mountain
With only trees for shelter from the storm.
At daybreak, soon as chores were done, the farmers came together
To try to find and bring their cattle home.
All day, through snowy woods and drifts, they searched the frigid mountain;
We waited and we worried and we prayed.
Long after dark we heard them coming through the frozen darkness;
'Though wet and cold and hungry, they were safe.
Not one was lost, they all came safely home.
We knew our prayers were answered -
God had been upon the mountain
And kept them safe throughout the stormy night.
by Lucy M. Young
I would give everything I have or ever hope to have
If I could but return to yesteryear
And Christmas as it used to be when I was young
By ordinary standards we were poor.
But we didn't know it
Money was a very scarce commodity.
Not knowing what it was, we didn't miss it;
For we were truly rich beyond compare in all the things that matter
We had love and understanding,
Security from cold and hunger.
We were content with what we had.
Our world was beautiful, our happiness complete.
Our home was filled with so much love and Christmas spirit
That I can almost taste it even now.
We never made a Christmas list
Nor asked for any special thing.
But waited with such glad anticipation for Christmas morning
To find our home-made gifts beneath the tree,
And see the joy on the faces of our loved ones
When they received the things we'd made for them.
Memories come crowding back
Of snow and sparkling, starry nights;
The one large Christmas star which shone above the mountains
in the East
Bringing in the tree and trimming it;
The cold clean smell of balsam
Spicy smells of Christmas goodies baking in the kitchen,
Smiling faces, happy hearts, excited chatter;
Oyster stew on Christmas Eve;
Oranges and nuts and shiny red-cheeked apples;
Candy bags upon the branches of the tree;
Mother at the organ playing Christmas Carols
While we gathered 'round her singing joyously.
Santa Claus was just a pleasant character like Mother Goose
or Cinderella's fairy godmother.
We knew what Christmas really meant -
The birthday of our Lord.
We knew our gifts came from each other
In memory of His birth.
Dear Lord, I'd give all I possess
If I could just have one more Christmas as it used to be
With all the warmth and love and joy and peace
But I do thank you most sincerely for these precious memories
Of Christmas day at home so long ago.
by Lucy M. Young
The leaves are falling fast now
The trees will soon be bare
Their naked, shivering branches
Reaching for the black November sky.
The air is growing colder
Winter's moving closer every day
Animals are hibernating
Birds have flown to warmer climes
Before the bitter winter winds arrive.
One tree stands firm against the changing weather
A staunch New England pine, proud and strong
Its lush green foliage gently moves with every passing breeze
Soon snow will gently fall
Silently adorning field and tree and bush
With fluffy soft white plumes
Winter winds will whip them to a frenzy
And the tree will stand uninjured through it all
But Spring will come with tender grass
And soft green leaves and flowers
Peepers in the marshes fill the night with song
Robins and songbirds sing from all the trees.
Thank you, Lord, for all the changing seasons
And the constant beauty of them all.
Help us to appreciate each passing hour
And live each fleeting moment to the fullest.
by Lucy M. Young
The leaves are turning gold and crimson,
Sure sign that summer's drying,
Asters and chrysanthemums are blooming everywhere;
Spreading apple trees and grapevines
Laden with their ripening bounty
Of luscious fruit, their perfume fills the air.
Flocking birds are swiftly gathering,
Daily feeding on the plenitude
Of seeds and berries in the woods and fields.
Days are bright and warm and sunny,
Nights are clear and cool and frosty,
The air is crisp and clean like sparkling wine;
Drinking deeply of their vintage
We're with grateful hearts rejoicing
In the glory of the Master's great design.
by Lucy M. Young
A patch of deep blue sea above the city skyline
For fluffy white cloud ships to sail upon
God knew we needed something bright and cheery
After cloudy days of rain and gloom
So thank you, Lord, for this small piece of April
To help us through the last grim days of March.
by Lucy M. Young
Blue skies of April
Loveliest of the year
Shining through my window
Drying up my tears.
Winter was so lonely -
Bleak and cold and drear,
Easily forgotten
Now that April's here.
New green leaves and swelling buds
Bring new hope and cheer;
Dandelions, fresh green grass
Remind us God is near.
Blue skies of April
Loveliest of the year
Bringing resurrection
And a bright new year.
by Lucy M. Young
All winter long we wished for snow,
We children of the North;
Hopefully we scanned the skies,
Perused the weather report.
The weather men predicted snow,
But rain was what we got -
Dismal, dreary, icy rain,
Our wishes were for naught.
Now it is March, the winter's gone,
Spring flowers bloom everywhere;
And what is this I see without?
Gay snowflakes fill the air!
The brown, bare ground has disappeared
Beneath a soft, white spread;
The trees are dressed in fluffy lace,
White icing decks my homestead.
I thank the Lord with all my heart
For sending this late snowstorm
To hide the bleak, bare countryside,
The brown earth to transform.
'Twill not last long, the sun will shine,
The flowers will reappear;
The robins' songs will fill the air
To tell us Spring is here.
by Lucy M. Young
What a lovely peaceful time of year -
The hot and sultry days of summer gone,
A subtle crispness in the morning air;
Crickets chirping cheerful music through the night;
Apples ripening on the trees,
Grapevines heavy with their load of luscious fruit;
The tantalizing scent of autumn in the air;
Fluffy plumes of goldenrod
Beckoning from every field and roadside;
Cornfields rustling in the autumn breeze -
Stripped now of their golden harvest -
Whispering predictions of the coming winter cold;
Incredibly blue sky spread over all.
October,
The ultimate fulfillment of Springtime's golden promise.
photo by Kayla Spracklin on Unsplash
by Lucy M. Young
Today I saw two robins on the lawn.
I watched them as they searched for food,
Their keen ears picking up the sound of worms beneath the sod.
How tired and hungry they must be
After their long, long journey from the South.
Dear Lord, watch over them, I pray.
Keep them safe and warm throughout the cold and darkness of the night.
Tomorrow help them find a nesting place secure from predators.
Then let their happy songs be heard
To cheer our winter-weary souls
And tell us Spring is here.
photo by Avery Lutkenhoff on Unsplash
Woodsmoke and Cardamom 