Ode to Joan, with apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Listen my sisters and you shall hear
Of the 50th birthday of a sister dear
On the fourteenth of December, a long time ago
Driven to the hospital through ice and through snow
Went Sylvia in December that year.
It was nearly ten by the kitchen clock
When they sped away into the night
The sisters listened to the quiet tick-tock
And sat and waited as time passed.
And the living room lights, few and dim
Blinked off and on as if by whim
And the two girls wondered how long it would last
Until their father returned and things seemed right.
About half past six by the delivery room clock
The baby emerged into the world.
They heard her voice and took stock
Of black hair, tiny hands and blue eyes
A lovely girl of a pleasing size.
Around Dad’s finger her little hand curled
They saw the beauty in form and in face
And the crying in her soft, sweet tones
They brought her home to her own little place.
For, borne on the night-wind of the past
Through all our history, to the last
We still remember how happy we were
To behold the sweet baby, lovely and new
We loved and adored and cherished her
And realize today that this is still true.
(author, Ellen Korb)
