[pastachef]

I'd like to share one of my great grandfather's poems here at The Chef's Garden because the forum is a place to come and learn about as well as celebrate nature

April Dawns
by Herman Eugene Kittredge

Magnolias toss pink fountains in the air;
Already petals fall like saddening rain,
And will not rise till branches, stark, shall bear
False flowers of snow
That chill with longing pain.
Yet meanwhile we shall know:
Somehow, behind old Winter's frigid stare,
With warming fingers, sightless, Life still weaves
The brooding buds' dream children into leaves
And blooms...another April dawn shall wear.

 

[papa]

Dear PastaChef:

Thank you for sharing that beautiful poem with us!

 

[cape chef]

Thank you pastachef,

That was a lovely poam your grandfather enjoyed.

cc

 

[pastachef]

My great grandfather wrote that poem, CC He was a dermatologist, but also a famous poet in his time. I was fascinated to find out how many poetry societies and newspapers he was printed in. He was obviously gifted with an awareness of the 'inner eyes' with which only the soul can see. He was a real nature lover. I wish I could have known him.

 

[pastachef]

I wanted to plant this seed in our Chef's Garden.

To A Brooklet
by Herman Eugene Kittredge

A tiny Niagara tumbles and falls
From the mossy rock
Where your murmur calls
As the ripples mimic in crinkly turns
The graceful forms of the fronded ferns.
*** bubbles of airy hope you hurl...
Fair strings of gleaming irised pearl...
Across the breast of a maiden lake,
Where all, alas, like mine, soon break.
But what care we that our bubbles go wrong
And burst, if our souls are filled with song?
The song in your murmur makes song in my soul
As onward you joy, to your briny goal!
And though the ocean shall drown your song
Where breakers roar and whitecaps throng,
That song from my soul shall never depart.
Sing on, little brook, in the deeps of my heart.

[ June 28, 2001: Message edited by: Pastachef ]

 

[svadhisthana]

Thank You, Pastachef. It's so sweet of you to share.

 

[nancya]

Lovely Pastachef. Your great grandfather wrote poems warm with sunshine. Love them.

 

[pastachef]

Thank you so much, Svadhisthana and Nancya. I am just discovering my grandfather's poetry and writings and I am fascinated by the beautiful images that he saw. I only met him once. How sad. He died when I was very young. Somehow I am beginning to feel connected to him by his beautiful thoughts

 

[pastachef]

SUNSET

A thin pine has pierced
The heart of the sun,
From the hill,
Like a knife...
And the crimson has run
Through his garment of cloud...
A sheer cliff of stone...
Mute witness...
Stands awe-struck,
In twilight...
Alone.

[ July 06, 2001: Message edited by: Pastachef ]