Monday, October 12, 2020

Nine Years Old

I’m cheating a little for this Poetry Monday.
The theme this week is ‘Someone You’ve met’.
And yes, I can remember the very first time I met her. A newborn in her mama’s arms.
Our second daughter’s first daughter.
The ‘cheating’ part is where I admit this poem is not new.
I wrote it for my eldest son when he turned nine.
I have to admit that was a very long time ago.
This time around, it’s for my 1stDof2ndD (see above).
Happy birthday, Sweetie!
Eldest son, Nine Years Old


Newest Nine Year Old

Well, now I'm nine and you can see
The changes time has wrought in me.
I've grown three feet since I was born,
I’m tall and slim as a stalk of corn.

I've learned about so many things,
I know of bikes and kites and strings.
I can cook and clean and comb my hair,
And help my sis with family prayer.

I can haul in wood, or hammer nails,
Or water trees with heavy pails.
I can hold the baby, shine my shoes,
Or sit with you and discuss the news.

I’ve learned to knit quite perfectly,
I can beat you at Monopoly.
I can take out garbage, weed and hoe,
Then eat the carrots, row by row.

In fact I've grown so big and tall,
With doing chores and playing ball,
That maybe you can't really see
How young and weak I still can be.

How I take a ‘friend’ to bed at night,
And ask you to leave on the light.
How I still like my whole face kissed
And like to make a 'Christmas List'.

And even though I numb your knee,
I like to be held tenderly.
I like to know that you are proud
And have you tell me right out loud.

Please understand, with all my size,
With knowing looks in big brown eyes,
That I am not as old, you see
As my outside appears to be.

Ignore my size and adult airs,
Forget that I've climbed lots of stairs.
Just hug and kiss and try to see
That little child inside of me.

And now a LITTLE treat:


Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With POETRY, we all besought,
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts...
Perhaps a grin?
So Jenny, Charlotte, Mimi, me,
Have crafted poems for you to see,
And now you've read what we have wrought...
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week we'll denigrate or praise,
The interesting Diet Craze!

16 comments:

  1. So beautiful. Made me homesick for my own two little 9 year olds I once had. *sniff*

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    1. The only reason I can keep it together is the next generation, Laurie! Don’t know what I’ll do when the last nine-year-old passes me by. Wait for the great-grands, I guess! ;)

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  2. Even if it's re-use it is a good and true poem well written. Thank you for sharing it with us.

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    1. Thank you so much Charlotte. Those little nine-year-olds. They get to me! :)

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  3. Perfect that you wrote it for your son yet it works perfectly for your granddaughter. I guess that means that your thoughts and observations stand the test of time.

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    1. Thank you so much, Karen!
      Either that, or even modern kids remain basically the same! ;)

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  4. Being nine means almost ten. I can remember some of that in my own self and lots of it with my children and grandchildren. Thanks.

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    1. Thank you, Beth! I love it when people post ‘family’ stuff. IT always reminds me of mine!

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  5. A lovely poem with a lot of interesting and unique observations. A poem to treasure.

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  6. I guess I needed a good cry, between the poem and the video.

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  7. That was precious, i am glad you chose to use it again or i wouldn't have seen it.

    Dieting it is!

    For some possible future topics, remembering i just started joining in recently and don't know what's been done, how about favorite potables, a high school antic, newspapers or memories of newspapers from years ago, or most/least favorite article of clothing. Just a few ideas that might spark something for you, feel free to edit, change or ignore any of them.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Mimi. So glad you enjoyed it!
      These are inspired suggestions! We’ll use them all. So next week, after dieting, we’ll do Favourite Potables! Thank you!

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  8. I love your poem. I remember the "nine" years of each of my kids.

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    Replies
    1. Such a special time, isn't it, River? Still yours, but a little bit independent, too...

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