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I began writing rhyme when I was just a lad

To establish the only gift that I thought I might have,

 Some people have told me that is what I have got

But there are others that seem to think it is not!

That doesn't matter much to me, I just write what I feel,

No one else wrote it, and I just do not steal

So I have worked many years to write these rhymes

And it seems to come easy, at least most of the time.

I have wrote about peacetime, I have wrote about war

And after spending years in one I don't want anymore.

I have wrote about many things that came through the years,

Some of them have been happy times, some that brought tears.

Writing about most everything that crosses my mind

I feel compelled to write whenever I find the time.

Writing about beautiful mountains that stand high and steep,

Looking up at the ridgeline, seeing a family of sheep.

In bed I oftimes dream dreams when I fall asleep

And I write about those dreams so lovely and neat.

Flowers that I have seen all along life's way,

Wildflowers and tame flowers that I've seen everyday.

Wonderful winding rivers and how they do flow,

Seeing other mountain streams where the foam does glow.

Old mansions and plain homes that stood decaying or gone

Where someone had lived, grew old and moved on.

Yes, deserted mansions standing alone and still

Vines that climbed upward, another house on a hill

Deserted and lonely as I look up there all alone

Most surely many years have past since it was a home.

I thought often about people, some good , some bad

With many of the problems and the bad times they had.

Trees lose their starkness when the seasons return to spring,

Green leaves that begin budding and then turn to beautiful things.

Often I think of the different places that I have been

And all of the memories that they seem to send,

Remembering World War Two and all of the terrible times

That I have put in their places into some kind of rhyme.

Hero's of the war, many have passed and gone away

But those friends are still in my memory on to this day.

Friends who shared the problems and the burdens of us all,

Some made it through the battles but with others fate did call.

I have wrote about farmers who raise the crops

without the farmers we would suffer quite a lot.

I write about the fluffy clouds and the blue sky above,

They make a beautiful scene that most people love.

Travelling across this great country of ours

Seeing newly found sights for hour after hour.

Remembering fishing days when I was but a lad

Special times when I went fishing with my dad.

A very special mother who looked out for me

In the days of the depression that I remember you see,

Things were never easy for her in those days

But she did her best and for that I send GOD praise.

Flatland streams where I grew up; a place I adored,

Buying the fishing tackle that I could afford.

Enjoying things of nature through all of those years

Remembering all of those hard times and showers of tears.

Ships lost at sea, remembering some of their names

When I wrote about the seas and the storms that came.

Relatives who through the years who have all passed and gone

Some to be remembered as the years pass in rhyme and song.

The weather, the storms, and the bright sunny days,

Tar paper shacks and cowboys shine through the haze.

Hide-a-ways where one could go for relaxation and rest

Out in my fishing boat that always stood the test.

Poems coming from memories, both good and bad,

some of these happy ones, other ones quite sad.

Wind blown snow storms when we ended up snowed in

waiting for the snow plows to come past again!

Poems about trusting our Saviour each day

Beleiving in him and trying our best to obey.

Our father in heaven sent us many blessings too,

Whenever in need he always carried us through.

Poems about sunshine and showers that made the flowers grow,

That being more of the beauty that nature does show.

Writing about all of the pets, birds, and other things

And how happy we were when winter turned into spring.

About work that I have done throughout the days of my life,

The joys of forty eight years since I married my wife.

Of strolling through meadows just covered with flowers,

Sometimes enjoying the scene hour after hour.

Ocean voyages in 1943 and again in 1945,

I still wonder how I made it home alive!

Climbing Italian mountains, one end of Italy to the other

I found a camaradie with men that I now consider brothers.

Even raising our children the way that one should

Growing to be good men the way I knew that they would.

I have wrote about all of these and many more things,

I cannot read music and I have no aptitude to sing.

It seems that all of these poems I have written for nought

A great waste of paper, all that is left is a thought.

Just wasting my time trying to do something good,

I don't beleive it is in the works, and I'm not being rude.

Oris M. Gentry

August 28, 1996