Getting old takes courage-?   So
many worries, so little time-?  
Know what?  Beloved faces beam
from things that otherwise don't
mean diddly.  Are just matter!
Thus a painted tin bears my friend
Sara.  Got flea market fever again.
Loves purple, so guess. . .precisely.
My friend Eliz's bright-eyed mug
lights up a granite squirrel.  Also
woven into an afghan and a pair
of fingerless gloves.  My adopted
sis Mary's rolling her eyes on a box
of chocolate cherries.  Mary's on V-8
Fusion bottles and a garden sprite.
My precious Debi pops up on object
after object.  Funniest, a bagel
or a rock reminds of one she daisied
and xOx'd as a toddler. A designer
and decorator, Deb graces curtains,
spreads, and ottomans.  But she is a
poem by herself.   So is my son.  
Model cars have him smiling all  
over.  Milk-bone cartons, an earless
stuffed dog, and a whiskered basket
goes in where it's supposed to go out.
My husband. . .aren't enough words.  
 
Thanks to the 'net, friends I have
never met in person throw kisses from
bouquets.  Corral fences, pizza signs,
ballet shoes, torn jeans, cowboy hats,
boots,  snow angels, a heart sticker,
a Maxie cartoon, a baseball cap. . .
Sometimes what I see makes me sad
and angry.  Tears stream down the
faces on  belts and monitors and ER
signs.  Thank God most look at peace.  
Like they treasure the children inside
them.  Children!   Haven't even gotten
to the children!  They will take books!
Meantime, a grandchild on a crayon
leads to a colored pencil to a drawing
you would not believe. . .and the artist,
my niece Marti.   Forget gold!   Keep
your diamonds!  The treasure is us.  
The family that we all belong to!  
Grows as we do makes it priceless.
                                             You'll see.

        (c) Phyllis Jean Green, 3/09