On the third day of December,
It was quite a busy day!
With shopping, dishes and projects,
The beginning quite sped away!
The evening was more laid back,
As the family decided to sit,
Watch a few movies together,
While eating up some chocolate.
The evening wasn’t very productive,
But the family enjoyed the time,
Spent in each others company.
Now… I must close this little rhyme.
To the KING be all the glory!
On the second day of December,
Decorating never came off as planned.
Nothing of major importance transpired,
No ones activity was very grand.
The family did have afternoon tea,
With Irish cheese and chocolate cake.
And while the food may sound a bit odd,
It did quite a delicious repast make!
When the sun had sank below the mountains,
And the stars were twinkling in the sky,
The family drove around neighborhoods,
Watching the Christmas lights that went by.
Weary at last, they came home,
Ready to go to sleep in their beds.
With visions of twinkling Christmas lights,
Colorfully dancing in their heads!
To the KING be all the glory!
On the first day of December,
Fevers and sneezes abounded!
Five out of seven had caught the cold,
And a chorus of sniffles resounded!
Yet, the family was determined,
Sick though they might be,
To have decorations up,
For their tired eyes to see.
So they unpacked the nativities,
Most of them at any rate,
And put up their CHRISTmas tree –
Then all, in a half decorated state.
The morning will be soon enough,
To finish the work begun this day.
And they just know when it’s finished,
It will be, lovely in every way!
To the KING be all the glory!
When I was about thirteen or fourteen, I was fascinated by the Pilgrims. I still am, but back then, they were always on the forefront of my imagination. My Mom had just had my sister, I got to go through an in-depth study of their history, and I had recently finished reading William Bradford’s Of Plymoth Plantation. I decided to attempt a ballad, relating a condensed version of their experiences. As you can imagine, the poem wasn’t exemplary, yet the idea was good. This year, I decided to try rewriting that ballad. Here is my newly improved version. I would love to know what you think of it and I hope that you all had a pleasant Thanksgiving!
Plymoth Colony
Do you know the truth about the Pilgrims,
Who sailed over the ocean in 1620?
Why was it that they came here?
Was it for fortune, fame, or money?
There was religious oppression in England,
The country of their native birth.
The freedom to worship as they chose,
The LORD of the heavens and the earth.
Searching for this liberty so sweet to them,
To Holland, with their families, they went.
Life in that country was unfamiliar and rough,
And there were many days in difficulty spent.
As they tried to learn a new way of life,
Everyone jumped in and did their part.
The older people and the younger children,
Helped everyone else from the very start.
But as the months and years began to pass,
A shadow of trouble, began to grow.
Surrounded by influences, ungodly and wrong,
The effects on the children, began to show.
After prayer and supplication for Divine influence,
They pondered over where they ought to go.
At last, they decided upon the Americas,
A fact you might possibly, already know.
Their path was fraught with several trials
As they prepared to sail across the sea.
Friends and even strangers from England
Invested time, materials and money.
Then came the troublesome matter of the patent,
Which from England, they were supposed to receive.
Then there were those, who backed down on promises,
And then others who’s only purpose was to deceive.
They had returned in a body to England’s shores,
From thence they were planning to depart,
But those who had deceived detained them long,
Though the weather was perfect for their start.
At last, and in the LORD’s perfect timing,
The Mayflower ship finally set sail,
Even though t’was much later than they planned,
This great expedition, had yet to fail.
For more than sixty-six days the Mayflower sailed
Through sunny days and o’er the foamy waves.
Before they finally sighted America’s shores
One person, sadly, went to their grave.
Sending out a shallop of men to explore,
The majority of the people, remained on board.
They explored every day, except the Sabbath,
Which they dedicated to rest and the LORD.
At last they returned to those on the ship,
Bringing their news of the new land,
They told of an attack by the Indians,
And how God delivered them out of their hand.
It was not very long after this news,
That an fatal illness fell upon them.
The ship’s crew hoarded all provisions,
And things began looking very grim.
Then the sailors began to get sick as well,
And it pleased the LORD above to allow,
The selfish attitude of the men to change,
To share the provisions with the colonists now.
Half of the men and women died that winter,
From the rampant spread of the fatal disease.
The few who the LORD was pleased to spare,
Worked night and day, the illness to ease.
About fifty of the colonists were left alive,
After that first winter had passed.
But they relied on the LORD for strength,
And He helped and guided them unto the last.
By the harvest time of the following year,
That is the year, sixteen hundred and twenty-one,
The colony at Plymoth was blessed with so much
Both from the land, and the fruits of their guns.
They celebrated the harvest with a feast,
To which came their new Indian friends.
And with this mention of the “First Thanksgiving”,
It becomes time that this ballad ends.
To the KING be all the glory!
This applies to writing prose too, so I suppose it could be called The Author’s Dilemma.
The Poet’s Dilemma
I sat down to write a ballad,
Full of depth and rhyme,
But instead the words eluded me
And committed mutinous crime.
They twisted themselves together,
In an order, unknown to man,
Insisting that they knew better
Than my previously thought-out plan.
When I tried to form a quatrain
My rhyming word would flee
And no matter how hard I followed,
It always eluded me!
My synonyms were ornery,
Never revealing what I wanted.
With repetitious words and phrases
My entire work was haunted.
I tried to make them listen,
Make them humble, then obey.
But always they insisted,
That they knew a better way.
So instead of fighting with them,
I tried a little plan;
Instead of chasing them around,
From them I quickly ran!
So shocked were they at this change,
The words were very still.
Then suddenly raced after me,
And jumped upon my quill.
My words are listening again,
Obeying my beck and call.
They’ll try again though, I’m sure of it,
Let’s just see how long I can stall!
To the KING be all the glory!