close your eyes.
Do not look
and try not
to cry, as they
Your right to work,
Your right to vote,
Your right to choose
Your right to say no!
Your right to fight.
We’ve sat on juries
and heard both sides.
It may be over looked
but not always
a woman could be denied
…to simply practice law
Sandra Day O’Connor took a seat
and showed them all!
Have hope old woman the day is not through
We ladies are doing our best for you.
Have hope in a better future
over one that is bleak.
We must stop the
a voice for
From the water we drink to the air we breath.
We need to keep fighting for what we believe!
than all I see
is what you did
for the likes of me
may be stopped
and taken away
with the turn
of this vote
Photo by diannehope
Your hand in my hand.
There are many important ‘she’ in my life.
My mother, aunts, grandmothers and my daughter.
They are the women that have left their print on my heart.
The directions I have taken for myself were surely driven by their spirit.
Many times during some of my darkest hours their hand in mine was all I had.
(The photo above is by click)
There is a book on the table,
I open it now and again.
It reminds me of many yesterdays,
spent with a dear friend.
She loved vanilla ice cream,
black coffee and sometimes tea.
She was a grand old woman
and a wonderful friend to me.
Lying on her lap, She sat in her easy chair.
My head on one side and my feet over the other.
She sang sweet lullabies to me.
We sang hymns from the choir book…
the one She kept at home.
My bedtime stories came from the bible
and I remember her chewing gum…
Peppermint on her breath when She spoke to me.
She loved Wrigley’s.
Her hair was grayer than anything I had seen.
It was almost silver and with every bit of sheen.
After all these years I still can not believe…
She is gone.
So much to tell her…so much I have done.
Grandpa would drive us to church.
He never would get out of the car.
I think he was already holy;
She and I would go inside.
And we sang.
She was already holy!
Some Sundays, mine eyes cry.
Photo was taken on December 25, 1968.
Aunt Hattie, Dad is holding me, and Grandpa is to the right.
I had to touch up in places, the photo is damaged and scratched.
Dad would have just turned 23 and I was almost 4.
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Willowbeithe ~‘The Willow Tree and the Birch (beithe) Charcoal and Paper to Inspire and Create for Writing and Poetry