But I love Poetry so here
            is some of my favorites.
        This page is dedicated in loving
        memory to my Mother and Father!
        Felix Lee Bridges and Agnes
        Maude (Golightley) Bridges
        Who made sure I had a education
        and knew the finer things in life.
        My father's and mother's favorite
        flower was Roses so
        Dad and Mom this Rose Page is for you!!
              Index:
              PUG
              FOREVER
              YOUR NAME
              MEMORIAL POEM
              A LASTING GIFT
              OLD FOLKS ARE WORTH A FORTUNE
              KIDS WHO ARE DIFFERENT
              GENEALOGY
              THE TREE
              UNDER THE KILT
        This poem was written by my daughter about her Boston Terrier for her
        Language Arts Class. I thought I would include it here!
        PUG
        I have a dog named Pug.
        She likes to go out in the mud.
        Then she comes in and rolls on
        the rug and expects a great big
        hug.
        She is black and white and does
        not like to be left alone at night.
        She gets in my bed and covers
        up her head and sleeps all warm
        and cuddly all night.
        When morning arises and she
        gets out of bed she's ready for her
        Kibbles and lays down her head.
        It's nap time, playtime and food
        time again then back she goes
        to bed.
        By Sarah Louthan
          March 1998
        FOREVER
        There's a hole inside of me,
        It appeared some time ago...
        the day my mother passed away.
        Tell me, why'd she have to go?
        I've tried to fill the hole up
        with other family,
        and I want to keep her memory alive,
        so I started her family tree.
        My search has brought me many kin
        who've helped to fill that hole,
        but I realize now, there'll always be an
        emptiness in my soul.
        I guess that's jus the way it is
        with people and their mothers...
        a special bond exists with them
        that can't be matched by others.
        How many times had I heard her say
        "Someday I won't be here..."?
        I thought I'd always have her, though.
        Now all I have is tears.
        I know she's with HER mother now.
        That's not what makes me sad.
        It's that I never asked her about our past,
        now, too late, I want to know sooooo bad.
        So please, God, when you see my mom,
        give her all my love.
        And tell ALL my kin that I'll see them again
        when I join them up above.
        This was written by Pam Carey Durstock
        This next was by Edgar Albert Guest
        (1881-1959)
        YOUR NAME
        Your name you got from your father
        It was all he had to give
        So it's yours to use and cherish
        for as long as you live
        If you lose the watch he gave you
        It can always be replaced
        But a black mark on your name, son,
        Can never be erased.
        It was clean the day you took it
        And a worthy name to bear
        When he got it from his father
        There was no dishonor there.
        So make sure you guard it wisely,
        After all is said and done
        You'll be glad the name is spotless
        When you give it to your son.
           MEMORIAL POEM
          This was encrypted on my
          Grandfather's Memorial Record
        God hath not promised Skies always blue,
        Flower-strewn pathways All our lives through;
        God hath not promised Sun without rain, Joy without
        Sorrow, Peace without Pain. But God hath promised
        Strength for the day, Rest for the labor, Light for the
        way. Grace for the trials, Help from above, Unfailing
        sympathy Undying love...
        Here is somemore poems I have found that I love
        very much some I do not know the authors but they
        have given me much pleasure I hope you enjoy them
        to.

          A Lasting Gift

        What can I leave to my children in addition to sunshine
        and laughter? What can I leave my granchildren and
        all my descendants thereafter?
        What will survive the test of time and then a thousand
        years more? What will insure rememberance of me,
        and all my ancestors before?
        My possessions may be owned by few and my estate
        is not vast. What could have ever-lasting ties that
        spans the future and past?
        In genealogy I will dabble and pass on more than just a
        name. Relaying lineage, life styles and stories, adding
        flesh to some links in the chain.
        I will hand down a gift of knowledge of from whom they
        came to be; of their heritage and bloodline, I'll leave
        THE FAMILY TREE.
        But Oh Great-grandpa I sit and ponder, my mind plays
        tricks, it begins to wander. In olden days when you
        were young, what were the games you played, the
        songs you sung?
        I want to know so many things, the dreams, the fun
        and joy that childhood brings. Did you miss those you
        left at home in young manhood when you began to
        roam?
        Of all the things I wish I knew, Dear
        Great-grandpa you left not a clue. Not to know
        makes me sad and forlorn. Just WHEN and
        WHERE were you born?
        So dear Santa, don't bring me new dishes, I don't
        need a new kind of game. Genealogists have
        pe-culier wishes; for Christmas I want a surname.
        A new dish washer would be great, but it's not
        the desire of my life. I've just found an
        ancestor's birth date, what I need now is the
        name of his wife.
        My heart doesn't yearn for a ring that would put
        a real diamond to shame. What I want is a more
        precious thing; please give me Great-Aunt
        Mollie's maiden name.
        To see my heart singing for joy, bring me a
        genealogist's toy; a picture for my history books
        packed away in cases and a surname with dates
        and with places.

          Old Folks are worth a Fortune

            Courtesy of : Old Farmers Almanac
        Remember, old folks are worth a fortune, with silver in
        their hair, gold in their teeth, stones in their kidneys,
        lead in their feet and gas in their stomachs.
        I have become a little older since I saw you last, and
        a few changes have come into my life since then.
        Frankly I have become quite a frivolous old gal. I am
        seeing five gentlemen every day. As soon as I
        wake up, Will Power helps me get out of bed. Then I
        go to see John. Then Charlie Horse come along, and
        when he is here, he takes a lot of my time and
        attention.
        When he leaves, Arthur Ritis shows up and stays the
        rest of the day. He doesn't like to stay in one place
        very long, so he takes me from joint to joint. After
        such a busy day I'm really tired and glad to go to bed
        with Ben Gay. What a life!
        P.S. The preacher came to call the other day. He said
        at my age I should be thinking about the hereafter. I
        told him, "Oh, I do it all the time. No matter where I
        am -in the parlor, upstairs, in the kitchen, or down in
        the basement - I ask myself, Now, what am I here
        after?"

          Kids Who are Different

          By Digby Wolfe-1990
        Here's to the kids who are different,
        The kids who who have ears twice the size of their peers,
        and noses that go on for days...
        Here's to kids who are different,
        The kids they call crazy or dumb,
        The kids who don't fit, with the guts and the grit,
        Who dance to a different drum...
        Here's to the kids who are different,
        The kids with the mischievous streak,
        For when they have grown, as history's shown,
        It's their difference that makes them unique.

          GENEALOGY

        Two by two, they loved and labored.
        One by one, when life was done,
        They were gathered to their fathers
        And were buried by their sons.
        Now we seek in musty pages
        Names and dates and dwelling place,
        Looking for a kinship linkage
        With some long forgotten face.
        Hunting Stones in cemeteries
        Overgrown with brush and tree
        Scanning films in public archives
        Reading, searching, endlessly.
        So we scribe with proud precision
        All we've gleaned about our name,
        Keeping for our children's children
        Evidence of whence they came.
        Unknown Author
        THE TREE
        Life wasn't always easy; but she never did complain.
        Though I saw her shed a leaf or two; when cold
        November's came.
        How her arms spread wide and welcomed, any
        weary nesting soul.
        Vast numbers took their comfort there; in spring and
        winter's snow.
        When August sun's beat down on me, I rested 'neath
        her shade,
        And warmed myself in winter with the firewood she gave.
        Played beneath the shelter of her strong and sturdy limbs,
        Swung from her branches happily with all my childhood friends.
        In her bark, I carve initials of those sweethearts long forgot, from
        her branches, hang my medals, hide my secrets in her knots. From
        her seeds, I grew an orchard; in her leaves I made a bed, & when
        thought to give up...her trunk spoke, "forge ahead!" I gaze now
        through her branches, far past where eyes can see, & every bough
        uncovered, tells that much more of ME! & I proudly bear the
        markings of her awesome history, Oh she started but a
        seeding....and became my family tree.
        by vikimouse 1998
        UNDER THE KILT
        A Scotsman clad in a kilt left the bar one evening fair
        And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk
        more than his share.
        He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet;
        Then stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street.
        About that time two young and lovely girls just happend by
        And one said to the other with a twinkle in her eye,
        See yon sleeping Scotsman so stong and handsome built,
        I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath their kilt.
        They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quite as could be,
        And lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see.
        And behold for them to view beneath his Scottish skirt,
        Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth.
        They marveled for a moment then one said we must be gone.
        Let's leave a present for our friend before we move along.
        As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow
        Around the bonnie star the Scot's kilt did lift and show
        The Scotsman woke to nature's call and stumbled toward the trees.
        Behind a bush he lifts his kilt and gasps at what he sees.
        In a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes,
        Oh, lad, I don't know where you bee, but I see you won first prize!
        Michael J. Irvin
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