[stylist] Comments on writing exercise

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

Barbara,

Your poems are always so pretty, smile.

Bridgit
Message: 8
Date: Tue, 16 Apr 2013 22:41:58 -0500
From: "Barbara Hammel" <poetlori8 at msn.com>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing exercise
Message-ID: <SNT139-ds661A06CC43CB4A5DE4A3DEBCE0 at phx.gbl>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"; Format="flowed"

I plan on doing another assignment but thought, since everyone else was 
posting old stuff, I would too.
Barbara

  WHAT I DID ONE DAY
By Barbara Hammel

When I was just a little tyke
I went one day upon my bike
Across the grass of em'rald green
That rain had just washed fresh and clean.
And lo! Before my very eyes
I saw a gently sloping rise.
Twas all a mass of flowers bright
Beneath the glow of summer's light.
I pedaled slowly to the brink
But I could not find any pink,
For pink was what I loved the best
So off I went without a rest
Through perfumed waves of floral bliss,
The scent was like a lover's kiss.
I rode in silence what seemed hours
Through all the rainbow-colored flow'rs.
And at what seemed to be the top
There I decided I would stop.
I had not found a single bloom
Of pink to deck our living room
And looking down the other side
I saw no pink so didn't ride.
I went across the top instead
Through vi'lets blue and roses red
Through lilacs purple, orange mums
And yellow-gold nasturtiums.
Until at last I came to face
The edge that dropped off into space.
At least I thought it to be so
For at my feet lay winter snow.
I knew back then as just a child
Snow could not be when summer smiled.
I left my bike and went to stand
Upon what seemed the edge of land.
Then I knelt down to touch what lay
Like snow upon this summer day.
It was not cold like snow should be,
But rather soft and cottony.
So mystified I could not think,
And I forgot about the pink,
I sat right down at flowers' edge
And put my feet down o'er the ledge.
And then I pulled them up again
And my eyes nearly popped out when
I looked down through the hole I'd made
And saw the yard in which I played.
My sister Anne was playing there
With sunbeams dancing in her hair
A drop of rain fell on her head
Then up at me she looked, and said,
"My goodness! there is Abigail!
How'd you get on the rainbow trail?"
And as I waved, behold I spied
Right to my left a silver slide,
I grabbed my bike and without thought
Of consequence that could be brought
I pedaled off that flow'ry shore
And down that silver slide I tore.
I sped without a thought in brain
For I was racing down the rain!
I whooped and yelled as I drew near
And Anne cried out, "Oh dear! oh dear!"
But soft and gentle as spring show'rs
I came to rest beside some flow'rs.
And there I saw the reason why
I'd climbed that path into the sky.
For right beneath my very nose
There grew a pink wild prairie rose.