Poetry by Betty Farber
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After visiting twins who grow cuter and cuter,
I come home to the messages on my computer. Looking for news, returning from travel, I’m panning for gold, and just finding gravel: Petitions, promotions, and plain propaganda, Bargains on airfares and tours to Uganda. Opera, theater, concerts and dance I delete at random, with hardly a glance. Disappointed with emails, I continue deleting. What’s this one? “Dear Grandma,” I then keep on reading. Not fancy or flowery but it can be told With this email message, I now have struck gold.
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On the thirty-seven bridges crossing the Seine
Parisian men and women have pledged their love: They attach a padlock to the side of the bridge, Lock it and toss the key into the dark water. Will he be faithful because the key Is sleeping at the bottom of the Seine? Will she turn from temptation because her promise Is locked on a bridge near the indifferent waters? ***** Lovers of Paris — stay true to each other, Though life flows by like currents in the river. May joy outlast the strongest metal clasp, And love be locked in your hearts forever. Traveling in the Canadian Rockies, A falling ribbon of water beckoned to me. I left the group and hiked right up to it. A torrent of silver cascading earthward, It laughed and danced its way down to the ground. A living thing, it sprayed my face with mist. Engulfed in mystery and beauty, Connected to a force beyond my knowledge, I had a fleeting glimpse of the eternal. More than orange-gold sunsets, More than majestic mountains, The spirit of the waterfall had moved me. I felt we shared a sacred moment. Alone with my secret, I walked back on the path, Mist on my face mingling with my tears. |
AuthorBetty Farber lives in New York City. She is a great-grandmother of six. Archives
July 2022
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