THE ROSE GARDEN
I stood in a garden of roses
By the light of the waning moon
I saw, like teardrops glistening
The dew on each lovely bloom
I watched the sun at dawning
Peep over the mountains high
And felt his warmth enfold me
As higher he rose in the sky
The roses unfolded their petals
As his rays penetrated the gloom
They swayed in the breeze like dancers
Releasing their heady perfume
I breathed in their fragrance in wonder
And gazed all around at the scene
At the mountains so rugged and awesome
Clothed in trees like a stole of green
Thrown carelessly over one shoulder
Like a model in statuesque pose
The beauty all around was enchanting
Enhanced by the scent from The Rose
Written by Eliz L Blackwood in
1957,
while visiting Jasper,
Alberta
I stood in a garden of roses
By the light of the waning moon
I saw, like teardrops glistening
The dew on each lovely bloom
I watched the sun at dawning
Peep over the mountains high
And felt his warmth enfold me
As higher he rose in the sky
The roses unfolded their petals
As his rays penetrated the gloom
They swayed in the breeze like dancers
Releasing their heady perfume
I breathed in their fragrance in wonder
And gazed all around at the scene
At the mountains so rugged and awesome
Clothed in trees like a stole of green
Thrown carelessly over one shoulder
Like a model in statuesque pose
The beauty all around was enchanting
Enhanced by the scent from The Rose
Written by Eliz L Blackwood in
1957,
while visiting Jasper,
Alberta
THE SANDMAN
The Sandman has the swiftest wings
and shoes that are made of gold.
He calls on you when the first star sings
and the night is not very old.
He carries a tiny silver spoon
and a bucket made of night.
He fills your eyes with bits of moon
and stardust, shiny and bright.
He takes you on a ship that sails
through' the land of dreams and joys.
And tells you many wondrous tales
of dragons and magical toys.
So come now and rest your sleepy head
and close your eyes very tight.
For should you stay awake instead
the sandman won't pass by tonight.
A QUESTION OF SNOW
Would someone please tell me 'cause I'd like to know,
how Christmas became associated with snow?
ForJesus was born in a stable so bare,
with animals eating the hay laying there.
The night was so clear that the shepherds were led,
to a tiny wee manger that was Jesus' bed.
The country was dry mostly dessert they say,
where Jesus was born that first Christmas day.
So please! someone tell me 'cause I'd like to know,
how Christmas became associated with snow
Would someone please tell me 'cause I'd like to know,
how Christmas became associated with snow?
ForJesus was born in a stable so bare,
with animals eating the hay laying there.
The night was so clear that the shepherds were led,
to a tiny wee manger that was Jesus' bed.
The country was dry mostly dessert they say,
where Jesus was born that first Christmas day.
So please! someone tell me 'cause I'd like to know,
how Christmas became associated with snow
SOLILOQUY
All we like sheep, have gone astray;
everyone to his own way.
Our Father, looking from above
sent to earth a gentle dove.
Then sent His Son, through love divine
to hold us close and say "Your mine".
He set us down in pastures green
with living water in the stream.
He marked us each with his own brand
to know his own from every land.
So when we hear the Master's voice
we come together and rejoice.
Content to graze within his fold
Forever His to have and hold.
Gamboling with God's precious lamb
In pastures green, by waters calm.
Written in 1985 by Elizabeth
A small child asked me, "What is Heaven like?" The thoughts of my own childhood questions came back to me. Memories of how my Mother explained things to me. In answer to the child's question I wrote the first thoughts that came to mind. So many references to sheep, shepherd and the 'Lamb of God" in the Bible influenced the above poem.
All we like sheep, have gone astray;
everyone to his own way.
Our Father, looking from above
sent to earth a gentle dove.
Then sent His Son, through love divine
to hold us close and say "Your mine".
He set us down in pastures green
with living water in the stream.
He marked us each with his own brand
to know his own from every land.
So when we hear the Master's voice
we come together and rejoice.
Content to graze within his fold
Forever His to have and hold.
Gamboling with God's precious lamb
In pastures green, by waters calm.
Written in 1985 by Elizabeth
A small child asked me, "What is Heaven like?" The thoughts of my own childhood questions came back to me. Memories of how my Mother explained things to me. In answer to the child's question I wrote the first thoughts that came to mind. So many references to sheep, shepherd and the 'Lamb of God" in the Bible influenced the above poem.
MY PEARLS
My heart still aches with sorrow
and many the tears still shed,
but the many happy memories,
are still inside heart and head.
Tears and memories are pearls
or so I have heard tell.
Pearls that are worth far more
than any jewelers sell.
No one can steal them
or break them apart.
Those pearls that are hidden
deep inside my heart.
Beautiful pearls on a golden string,
fondly I keep them remembering.
Lonely and sad I can never be,
counting my pearls of memory.
My pearls are:
George, Elizabeth, Johnny, Nick, and
Sandi
Written
by Elizabeth after her husband passed away
AN EMIGRANTS LAMENT
Written by Elizabeth September of 1954, during a fit of dire hameseekness(homesickness).
I've wandered faur frae Scotland's shore
O'er seas I chose tae roam,
But oh! can I prevent ma thochts
From ever turning home?
I oft times think o' days gone by
Of spots I hold sae dear,
Of childhood frien's and family,
My memory keeps them near.
Of picnics that, wi' neebor's bairns,
We gaed oot tae the Ha',
Tae Tibbie's brig cauld water spoot
Brig Twenty ane an' a'.
I've paddled in the watter Ayr,
The Greenock water tae,
And cycled tae the auld White Brig
Tae dook, aye mony a day.
In courtin' days there's mony a walk
Aroon Muirkirk i've taen.
The Miller's Road, the Pooderhoose,
And doon by Tam Rae's lane
The walk aroond by Auldhooseburn
A favorite was o' mine.
On Sundays, doon the Cumnock Road,
My lad's hand holding mine.
We didna hae a radio
Ne'er dreamed aboot TV,
But mony a happy nicht i've spent
Wi' friens and family.
Oft gathered roon oor ain fireside
A gay sand frae my mither,
Sweet sangs frae me and Aunt Mary,
A ballad by me brither.
A laugh, a joke, a goodly tale
The 'oors jist flew alang,
We'd finish up by coaxing dad
Tae sing a bawdy sang.
Aye, times hae changed since I was young,
And pleasures too, I fear.
The simple joys have been replaced
By things that cost you dear.
The lovely walks, the dookin'spots,
Forgotten, fall apart.
The state, I hear, o' tibbies Brig,
Pits woe intae my heart.
Now as a bairn, I often heard,
A lively tale was told,
How Tibbie flummoxed Rabbie Burns
Who dared tae ca' her bold.
As Tibbie wis oor best known link
Wi' Scotia's famous bard,
Tae keep her Brig a monument,
That shouldnae be sae hard.
A puckle stanes, some guid cement,
A lot o' elbow grease.
The willing hert, the helpin' haun,
And labours never cease.
And when the Brig has been renewed
Tae a' its former beauty,
Then each can shake the ither's haun
And say " I've din ma duty."
Then roll your sleeves up, bonnie lads,
Nae mither's son maun shirk.
And when irs done, frae o'er the sea
You'll hear, "Weel done, Muirkirk!"
And if it's siller that ye need,
I'll start wi' richt guid will,
A fund tae save auld Tibbie's Brig
Wi' ane five dollar bill.
Written by Elizabeth September of 1954, during a fit of dire hameseekness(homesickness).
I've wandered faur frae Scotland's shore
O'er seas I chose tae roam,
But oh! can I prevent ma thochts
From ever turning home?
I oft times think o' days gone by
Of spots I hold sae dear,
Of childhood frien's and family,
My memory keeps them near.
Of picnics that, wi' neebor's bairns,
We gaed oot tae the Ha',
Tae Tibbie's brig cauld water spoot
Brig Twenty ane an' a'.
I've paddled in the watter Ayr,
The Greenock water tae,
And cycled tae the auld White Brig
Tae dook, aye mony a day.
In courtin' days there's mony a walk
Aroon Muirkirk i've taen.
The Miller's Road, the Pooderhoose,
And doon by Tam Rae's lane
The walk aroond by Auldhooseburn
A favorite was o' mine.
On Sundays, doon the Cumnock Road,
My lad's hand holding mine.
We didna hae a radio
Ne'er dreamed aboot TV,
But mony a happy nicht i've spent
Wi' friens and family.
Oft gathered roon oor ain fireside
A gay sand frae my mither,
Sweet sangs frae me and Aunt Mary,
A ballad by me brither.
A laugh, a joke, a goodly tale
The 'oors jist flew alang,
We'd finish up by coaxing dad
Tae sing a bawdy sang.
Aye, times hae changed since I was young,
And pleasures too, I fear.
The simple joys have been replaced
By things that cost you dear.
The lovely walks, the dookin'spots,
Forgotten, fall apart.
The state, I hear, o' tibbies Brig,
Pits woe intae my heart.
Now as a bairn, I often heard,
A lively tale was told,
How Tibbie flummoxed Rabbie Burns
Who dared tae ca' her bold.
As Tibbie wis oor best known link
Wi' Scotia's famous bard,
Tae keep her Brig a monument,
That shouldnae be sae hard.
A puckle stanes, some guid cement,
A lot o' elbow grease.
The willing hert, the helpin' haun,
And labours never cease.
And when the Brig has been renewed
Tae a' its former beauty,
Then each can shake the ither's haun
And say " I've din ma duty."
Then roll your sleeves up, bonnie lads,
Nae mither's son maun shirk.
And when irs done, frae o'er the sea
You'll hear, "Weel done, Muirkirk!"
And if it's siller that ye need,
I'll start wi' richt guid will,
A fund tae save auld Tibbie's Brig
Wi' ane five dollar bill.
A note from the author:
After writing this poem (An Immigrant’s Lament), I sent it to my father in Scotland. He gave it
to a friend who put it in two different newspapers. I was then informed that there was a fund in process to save Tibby’s Brig. In 1963 I donated money to help with the repairs; some of the repairs were done in that year.
After these repairs were done, Tibby’s Brig gained some fame and popularity and the funding process continued. Donations came from around the world and in 1995 a complete renewal of the brig was
completed.
The public donations amounted to almost $40,000.00 and the British government matched this sum.
Tibby’s Brig now stands as it did when it was first built. Tho’ I have not had the chance to see it in person, my sister sent me the video of the grand opening.
It was a grand sight and I say again, “well done Muirkirk”.
Money is still being sent to this fund for the upkeep of this
historical monument.
Printed
in the Murkirk Advertiser and Douglasdale Gazette Scotland
Note from Family
In 2010, Elizabeth's daughter, also named Elizabeth, and her son Nick, flew to Scotland to place some of her ashes at Tibbies Brig! The Scottish family all went with them to make it a celebration of her life on that side of the ocean! Some of the family go there each year in rememberance of her! Her niece Catherine and husband Alex, send pictures to the Canadian relatives every time they visit the Brig! Many thanks to them all!
After writing this poem (An Immigrant’s Lament), I sent it to my father in Scotland. He gave it
to a friend who put it in two different newspapers. I was then informed that there was a fund in process to save Tibby’s Brig. In 1963 I donated money to help with the repairs; some of the repairs were done in that year.
After these repairs were done, Tibby’s Brig gained some fame and popularity and the funding process continued. Donations came from around the world and in 1995 a complete renewal of the brig was
completed.
The public donations amounted to almost $40,000.00 and the British government matched this sum.
Tibby’s Brig now stands as it did when it was first built. Tho’ I have not had the chance to see it in person, my sister sent me the video of the grand opening.
It was a grand sight and I say again, “well done Muirkirk”.
Money is still being sent to this fund for the upkeep of this
historical monument.
Printed
in the Murkirk Advertiser and Douglasdale Gazette Scotland
Note from Family
In 2010, Elizabeth's daughter, also named Elizabeth, and her son Nick, flew to Scotland to place some of her ashes at Tibbies Brig! The Scottish family all went with them to make it a celebration of her life on that side of the ocean! Some of the family go there each year in rememberance of her! Her niece Catherine and husband Alex, send pictures to the Canadian relatives every time they visit the Brig! Many thanks to them all!
GRANDMOTHERS
Most people think of Grandmothers as old ladies with their hair in a bun.
But not all Grandmothers are old foggies, some are actually quite fun.
Although they are retired, Grandmothers work very hard.
But Grandmothers have it made because they can't get fired.
Grandmothers spoil grandchildren, that's part of what Grandmas do.
But their jobs are so very big, it's not just spoiling you.
Story telling plays a big part in Grandma's occupation,
Legends and fairy tales, even those of your Nation.
Taking care of you is also what Grandmothers do.
They take good care of you, making sure you're very clean too.
But you know what plays the biggest part in what Grandmas are supposed to do?
The biggest part in a Grandma's job is, basically, loving you!
Written by Elizabeth’s grandson John.
It is included in her works because it was written for her and is very
special. "Thank you John, I love you!"
Most people think of Grandmothers as old ladies with their hair in a bun.
But not all Grandmothers are old foggies, some are actually quite fun.
Although they are retired, Grandmothers work very hard.
But Grandmothers have it made because they can't get fired.
Grandmothers spoil grandchildren, that's part of what Grandmas do.
But their jobs are so very big, it's not just spoiling you.
Story telling plays a big part in Grandma's occupation,
Legends and fairy tales, even those of your Nation.
Taking care of you is also what Grandmothers do.
They take good care of you, making sure you're very clean too.
But you know what plays the biggest part in what Grandmas are supposed to do?
The biggest part in a Grandma's job is, basically, loving you!
Written by Elizabeth’s grandson John.
It is included in her works because it was written for her and is very
special. "Thank you John, I love you!"
TAKE THESE LINES TO HEART
I dreamed Death came to me one night and Heavens gates flew open wide
With kindly grace St. Peter came and ushered me inside
There to my astonishment were friends I had known on Earth
Some I had labelled as unfit and some of little worth
Indignant words flew to my lips: Words I could not set free
For every face showed stunned surprise NO ONE EXPECTED ME@
This poem was given to Elizabeth. She does not know who the author was,
but gives full credit the writer.
I dreamed Death came to me one night and Heavens gates flew open wide
With kindly grace St. Peter came and ushered me inside
There to my astonishment were friends I had known on Earth
Some I had labelled as unfit and some of little worth
Indignant words flew to my lips: Words I could not set free
For every face showed stunned surprise NO ONE EXPECTED ME@
This poem was given to Elizabeth. She does not know who the author was,
but gives full credit the writer.
THE PIPER ON TUNNEL MOUNTAIN LOOKOUT
A piper cam tae oor toon,
He stood in deep repose
And looked upon the toon o' Banff
Spread oot beneath his nose.
He lifted up his head and gazed
Aloft, at mountains High,
Those rugged snowcapped sentinels
That reach up to the sky.
He placed his pipes upon his lips
And then, with wondrous skill,
His fingers up and down the reed
It made the mountains dirl.
A gay and lilting sound it was
That echoed far and near,
And non remained immune to it
That had two ears to hear.
The crow, the jay, the magpie
'Lighted on a nearby tree,
All cawed, and chirped and chattered
In what they thought "harmony".
The timid deer leaped for the woods
In one short, graceful bound,
Her nostrils, quivering in fear
At this shrill strange new sound.
The great bull moose knee deep in swamp
Raised up his mighty head,
And bellowed forth a challenge
That he'd fight 'till one dropped dead.
The squirrels, darting back and forth
To fill their winter store,
Stopped short, amazed at this new sound
They'd never heard before.
The buffalo stopped in his tracks
Then just slouched on again,
He thought 'twas just the screeching
Of another passing train.
But I, out siting in the sun,
Of all who heard the lilt,
Could picture a braw Hellan' Chief
In bunnet, pipes and kilt.
His music reached out Loud and clear
Echoing to the skies,
Touched way down deep inside of me,
Brought teardrops to my eyes.
The songs he played of Scotland dear
So far across the foam,
Brought memories so dear to me
Of family, friends and home.
Aye! A piper cam tae oor toon
And played a wondrous lay,
That will live on in my memory
Forever and a day.
A piper cam tae oor toon,
He stood in deep repose
And looked upon the toon o' Banff
Spread oot beneath his nose.
He lifted up his head and gazed
Aloft, at mountains High,
Those rugged snowcapped sentinels
That reach up to the sky.
He placed his pipes upon his lips
And then, with wondrous skill,
His fingers up and down the reed
It made the mountains dirl.
A gay and lilting sound it was
That echoed far and near,
And non remained immune to it
That had two ears to hear.
The crow, the jay, the magpie
'Lighted on a nearby tree,
All cawed, and chirped and chattered
In what they thought "harmony".
The timid deer leaped for the woods
In one short, graceful bound,
Her nostrils, quivering in fear
At this shrill strange new sound.
The great bull moose knee deep in swamp
Raised up his mighty head,
And bellowed forth a challenge
That he'd fight 'till one dropped dead.
The squirrels, darting back and forth
To fill their winter store,
Stopped short, amazed at this new sound
They'd never heard before.
The buffalo stopped in his tracks
Then just slouched on again,
He thought 'twas just the screeching
Of another passing train.
But I, out siting in the sun,
Of all who heard the lilt,
Could picture a braw Hellan' Chief
In bunnet, pipes and kilt.
His music reached out Loud and clear
Echoing to the skies,
Touched way down deep inside of me,
Brought teardrops to my eyes.
The songs he played of Scotland dear
So far across the foam,
Brought memories so dear to me
Of family, friends and home.
Aye! A piper cam tae oor toon
And played a wondrous lay,
That will live on in my memory
Forever and a day.
WHAT CHRISTMAS MEANS TO ME
People meeting in the street
Hugging friends, where ere they meet
Children’s faces, smiling sweet
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Holly wreaths upon the door
Children playing on the floor
Logs in fireplaces roar
That’s what Christmas means to me.
The star upon the Christmas tree
Shining bright, for all to see
Reminding us, the Light is He
Who is what Christmas means to me.
Joy, Peace, Love, a time to share
To just let others know we care
Goodwill to all, our frequent prayer
That’s what Christmas means to me.
A time when people love to give
In Peace and Harmony to live.
And time also to just “Forgive”
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Smell of turkey slowly baking
Christmas pudding in the making
Spices fill each breath I’m taking
That’s what Christmas means to me.
My Daddy bows his head in prayer
Gives thanks for food and each one there
Wee brother hugs his teddy bear
That’s what Christmas means to me.
But most of all the Babe who lay
In swaddling clothes, upon the hay.
The Savior, humbly born that day
Is truly what Christmas means to me
Written by Elizabeth L Blackwood
People meeting in the street
Hugging friends, where ere they meet
Children’s faces, smiling sweet
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Holly wreaths upon the door
Children playing on the floor
Logs in fireplaces roar
That’s what Christmas means to me.
The star upon the Christmas tree
Shining bright, for all to see
Reminding us, the Light is He
Who is what Christmas means to me.
Joy, Peace, Love, a time to share
To just let others know we care
Goodwill to all, our frequent prayer
That’s what Christmas means to me.
A time when people love to give
In Peace and Harmony to live.
And time also to just “Forgive”
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Smell of turkey slowly baking
Christmas pudding in the making
Spices fill each breath I’m taking
That’s what Christmas means to me.
My Daddy bows his head in prayer
Gives thanks for food and each one there
Wee brother hugs his teddy bear
That’s what Christmas means to me.
But most of all the Babe who lay
In swaddling clothes, upon the hay.
The Savior, humbly born that day
Is truly what Christmas means to me
Written by Elizabeth L Blackwood