May~

Made-up on the spot. :P
Happy May!

May this be a month of life,

May new things start to grow.

May warmth and life prosper

May blossoms bud and show.

May songs of Spring soar,

May promises be kept.

May truth and trust go on,

May troubles away be swept. 

May birds teach us to fly,

May love teach us to sing,

May we count our blessings,

May we love what life brings. 

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2013

50TH POST!!

Hands~

Writing country songs again. 

Raised by a farmer,

She’s her daddy’s only daughter,

Washed in the Blood and water,

This is her life.

Growing crops and tending cattle,

Every day’s a constant battle,

But it’s what she loves and that’ll,

Always be her life.

She’s not afraid of tomorrow,

But she prays “God, please, may I borrow

Some strength?”

“The life we live is

Something you give

To those you know can carry it.

I've watched my father shape this land

Through sweat, pain, and bleeding hands,

And, God, all I want is to carry it

When he can’t.

God, please hold my shaking hands.”

Up before the break of day

She milking cows and stacking hay;

She wouldn't be content another way.

This is her life.

She's witnessed births and witnessed deaths,

She’s seen a calf give her last breath,

Sometimes she’s up against Goliath

With just a pocket knife.

Sometimes she fears tomorrow,

So she prays, “God, please, may I borrow

Some strength?”

“The life we live is

Something you give

To those you know can carry it.

I’ve watched my father shape this land

Through sweat, pain, and bleeding hands,

And, God, all I want is to carry it

When he can’t.

God, please hold my shaking hands.”

She’s fighting the bank so hard,

Always careful, on her guard.

Her body’s weary and scarred.

She has bleeding hands…

Well she lost her daddy one spring day,

They told her she should sell the place,

But she swore there on his grave,

Her face cupped in her hands

That she'd hold on until the day

God sent a good man her way

Who would live and work and pray

And hold her hands.

She doesn’t fear tomorrow

‘Cause she knows God will heal the sorrow,

And send her strength.

“The life we live is

Something you give

To those you know can carry it.

I’ve watched my father shape this land

Through sweat, pain, and bleeding hands,

And, God, all I want is to carry it

When he can’t.

God, please hold my shaking hands

When he can’t.

God, please hold my shaking hands.”

Raised by a farmer,

She’s her daddy’s only daughter,

Washed in the Blood and water,

This is her life...

© Hannah Scarlett 2013

Coming Spring~

Cover photography by my sister, Emma Catherine Smith.

She is the delicate little flower

Encircling her wicker bower,

A weaving, searching, climbing tower

Seeking to reach high.

She is the song the peepers sing,

The pond alive as echoes ring.

The songbirds which again take wing

And dance along the sky.

She is the scent of sodden earth,

Plants and creatures given birth,

Beauty and newness well beyond worth,

Bidding Cold farewell. 

She is the wind beneath the flight

Of returning geese with feathers white,

The soothing healer of Winter's bite,

The color of the bluebell. 

She is the whisper of new life,

Repeller of Frost's chilling knife,

To end the bleak, unceasing strife,

The voice of all who sing.

She is the fragrance in the air,

The answer to the desperate prayer

Of those longing for the weather fair...

She is the coming Spring.

Copyright Hannah Scarlett 2013

Life~

When Spring has sprung,

The earth is young,

And life begins anew.

Air fresh and pure;

Delicate and demure,

Flowers graced with dew.

Then Summer moves in,

Earth matures then,

The sky a vibrant blue.

Rich green foliage full,

Playful breezes pull,

Fireworks, fireflies, never few.

But as Autumn arrives,

Earth heaves a sigh,

Looks back at days that flew.

Now wise and knowing,

Chill winds blowing

Colored leaves swept askew.

At last Winter takes hold,

Earth's bones grow old,

To fall asleep- she wants to.

She grows gray and cold,

Tucked neath a blanket of snow,

This day would come, she knew.

And so, as a child grows,

Matures, learns, and knows,

So the Earth does, too.

In an endless circle of 

Life, death, and love,

She warns us our days are few.

© Hannah Scarlett 2012

The Awakening~

For many long months

The snow has stayed.

Over hard and lifeless ground

It has been softly laid.

Clouds have blotted out

The winter sky,

As gray and dismal days

Have passed, unending, by.

But the wind that blows

Without rest or peace,

Deep within knows

That soon it must cease.

As the grass reappears,

Conquering its snowy oppressor,

The cold will fall back,

Growing steadily lesser.

The sun calls out new life,

His rays warm and coaxing;

Spring is free of strife,

So hope-giving and inspiring.

The clouds fade and flee,

Winter; so forsaken...

The air carries the scent of flowers,

Spring; life will awaken...

 

© Hannah Scarlett 2011

The Apple~

Her life begins as a bud in the Spring,

A tiny, pink, and delicate thing.

Shyly and slowly, she starts to open,

Just one more promise nature has hope in.

The sun shines down upon her face,

Warming her petals with a golden embrace.

The bud lifts free the rest of her cover,

And becomes a bloom, vibrant with color.

She has many companions,

Pink and white and lovely,

Together they wave in the breeze as champions,

Gracing the bough of their mother tree.

And indeed, champions they be,

They have a miraculous destiny:

To blossom and grow and become

The next generation of the apple kingdom.

Their flowers fade and wilt away,

What's left is a small green thing.

No longer do they smell so sweet,

But this is only the beginning...

Throughout the Summer days,

They grow and start to change.

The previous little bud follows her sisters' ways,

And what happens in quite strange:

Her dark green flesh

 Turns pink as the leaves start to fall,

First begins to pale then brighten,

Then swells and darkens, the last stage of all.

Now she is a dark, red apple,

Perfect in every way.

She is round and rosy and sweet,

And then one day...

She says farewell to her sisters,

Then lets go of her stem.

Through the crisp, Autumn air she falls,

Sadly, yet determinedly, she leaves them.

Landing upon soft, rich soil,

She lies content, awaiting her fate.

Over the days, her time draws near,

And she rejoices at the end of her wait.

For a hand reaches down

And takes her inside,

She knows she's been found,

And great is her pride.

Because now she has finished her duty

To feed those who harvest.

Now this red, blushing beauty

May come to a rest.

As she is washed and cut,

And Laid in the dough of a pie,

She is glad to have fulfilled and acknowledged

Her purpose and calling from On High.

© Hannah Scarlett 2011