Anne Grant's poetry


(Hal Melanson, Anne Grant, Harold "Mickey" and Eleanor "Dusty" Melanson)


If I had no problem with time, talent or money...

I would gather all the children

the world cast aside

And shower them with Love

and help build up their pride.

I would buy a big farm

With animals, gardens, trees &

A stream or two

become a dream maker

and make their dreams

Come true--

I would hire the best

Teachers, their knowledge

To impart, to expose

These dear children to

basics, Music and Art

Responsibilities & chores

They would have each day

Practice the Golden Rule

To Guide them on their way.

I would like them to know

How special they are,

Like unto the heavens

is the Northern Star

The bunk houses would

ring with their laughter

And Song

They would learn to share

And help each other along.

I would like this Haven

For Children to be one

As much like heaven

As Earthly things can become

A place to recycle

the Lonely, the sad,

those who are down trod

And turn out happy

Healthy Children of God

A Garden of Eden

Free from despair

Where the young & the old

would all do their share

A place to prove

the worth of a soul,

yes, this is what

would be my Goal

if I had the talent

the money & the time

I could fulfill

this dream of mine.

Anne Connolly Grant November 1984

Stop To Smell the Flowers

Stop to smell the flowers

As you go along your way

“My Life is dull, there are no flowers.”

is what I hear you say.

A kitten soft, a new born calf,

The freshly fallen snow

These are the “flowers”

that brighten our way

as on with life we go.

What flower can surpass

the delightful grin

of a happy child at play

or the sunsets glow at the end

of a busy, perfect day?

The flowers that grow

as daisies do,

in the pastures green and wide

are no more delightful than

the loved ones by your side.

So seek the “flowers’

that fill your life

And will not wilt with time,

They are our dreams

the things we seek

Thru His Love divine.

His world is full of many flowers

that make our life worthwhile

A gentle word, a loving heart

and the message in a happy tender smile.

To MIckey & Dusty

30th Anniversary 11-12-1985

30 years! Can it really be

since Don & I accompanied thee

to the Parish House to become

Mr & Mrs. and share a life together

of joy & tears & hugs & kisses?

A rented house out in the country

where 2 happy people

soon became three....

Tammy so lovely, a golden delight

a perfect little girl

from the tip of her toes

to each shiny blond curl

she was so special...

so you tried for a boy.

Along came Hal

To complete your joy

But after a girl so petite & charming--

How to cope with this boy

So alarming!

Climbing on stoves

among bubbling pots,

out through the windows

to the very rooftops!

How could we cope with this little guy

With golden curls & a grin in his eye?

Little Mother Tammy

kept him in tow

They grew up together

and you loved them so.

In sickness & in health

In good times & bad

You did your best

with what you had

The children matured and

went out of the nest--

your finances went from bad

to better to best.

And now 30 years are over and done

Just look at the milestones

you two have begun

Your own home--

you built it so true & solid and strong

Two successful children

who never went wrong.

30 more years is our wish for you--

of love & success in all that you do.

All the world should have

Friends like Mickey & Dusty

Then smiles would abound

And tears would grow rusty.

Happy Anniversary from all of us here

With blessings & love in your 31st year.

Thank you to Addie & Dusty

June 7, 1985

People come, people go

and life goes on each day

But friends like you add sunshine &

flowers along the way

Always kind, always thoughtful

always there if one is “lost”

Dear, gentle friends I’m glad

our paths have crossed.

You make my birthdays special &

growing old more pleasant

Because of all the joy you bring

with each birthday present.

With friends like you

so kind & dear

with blessing I’m over run

I’m thankful to the both of you

for all my birthday fun.

My Mother’s Hands (1985)

Now that she’s gone

I often recall

My mother’s hands,

so careworn and small

Hands that cut logs

to build her own home

Hands that laid the foundation

stone upon stone.

Six little babies

to nurture and feed

Farm animals to tend

and Gardens to weed

Hands that ran looms

in the local yarn mill,

even at rest

They never were still.

Cooking, cleaning, knitting & sewing

I still see her there

Tired hands calm and

folded in prayer.

My mother’s hands---

they always will be

A gentle memory

of her love for me.

Braiding my hair

or dressing my doll

My mother was special

She did it all.

For Barbara Plocha’s Mom, Myrtle Buda, March 17, 1990

She laid her mortal body by--

freed her spirit with a joyful cry.

She’s free from tears & strife & pain

as she journeys homeward once again.

through clouds of glory she doth trod

to look upon the face of GOD.

As Joyful strains ring through eternity

A gentle Voice whispers:

“Well done, come, and dwell with me.”

Euology for Cyndee Perkins (died of cancer age 16, September 4, 1987)

Each time I see a rainbow

Arched across the sky

I’ll know it’s Cyndee’s way

of saying “Hi.”

She added joy and color

no matter what she did.

deep within her heart

She always was a kid.

She trails her clouds of glory

around her Celestial throne

waiting for the rest of us

to reach our Heavenly home.

Her dancing feet & cheerful smile

are taken from us

for awhile

there will be many times

We’ll fee the pain

of no mortal contact

with her again

but at those times

we must rejoice

That Celestial glory is now her choice

Her spirit soars,

freed from pain

Our hearts tell us

We’ll meet again.

Until that time

We must embrace

the memory of her smiling face

We must accept the lonely days

we know now follow

Knowing most of them

will be filled with sorrow.

Sorrow because we no longer share

the Joys of having Cyndee there.

She touched my life

And I am glad--

She left this life

and I am sad

But gently rain, the warmth of the sun

will remind me of that special one

who graced our lives and spread her charms

but now is safe within His loving arms.

Retirement Poem (June 1, 1960)

Senior citizen is within my grasp--

I can’t believe I reached the big “6-0”

And now “Older” is the only way to grow!

It has some rewards

such as long friendships, retirement, grandchildren and leisure time

But on the downside is gray hair, sags & bags & ines so tiny & fine.

Memory fails, hills get steeper

Sizes become a “bit” more big

And the waltz replaces the Irish Jig.

But memories are golden

And friends are too

And I have the best in all of you.

And if in eternity our wishes come true

I’ll wish to be friends forever

with all of you.

Thanks for a lovely evening.

Joseph Smith’s Gift (March 4, 1994)


A young man looked in awe

upon that book with Leaves of Gold

And read the wondrous tales

of prophets, warriors & Kings of old

He knew the legends told within

were inspired by men of God

He did not know that where they’d been

he, too was bound to trod.

He did not know the trials he’d have

the ridicule, the pain

As he & those whom he inspired

took up the fight again.

From boy to man, he strove to do

the things he knew were right.

Through earthly trials & tribulations

He kept eternity in sight.

In sickness & in health,

In glory and despair

If ever the Saints needed him

He was always there.

Until he gave his life

As Jesus did,

he died a martyr’s death

That we might have the word of God

once buried deep within the earth.

We must take up the banner

both at home & lands abroad

to help those on earth find their way

back home to God

We are not asked to shed our blood,

or know a martyr’s grave

just share the gospel

truths that Joseph to us gave.

Is that too much to ask?

Is that too much to give?

To share this gift he gave to us

and live as he did live?

Or do we keep it to ourselves

and never know the pleasure

of seeing lives change

As they too embrace this treasure.

On the ground....again!
My Bid Is 8 Spades

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