To My Family

How presumptuous you may say

Putting these writing on display.

But in the dimming of my light

and through some long and sleepless nights,

words and memories become my friends

and in my reverie I'm told

to share my word less I grow too old to dream

Love, Mary

Far and Near to Carbonear

It's summer again in Newfoundland,

the days are warm and the nights are grand.

The salt water air sweeps over the land,

the girls and boys walk the streets hand in hand

Your heart skips a beat, your head is in a whirl,

when you remember that you are a girl.

Walking the street without a care in the world,

the mysteries of life had not unfurled.

The future before you stretched out wide and free,

just waiting for you to be close to me.

The Night was Dark and Dreary

The night was dark and dreay as we stumbled up the stairs,

some to and baskets, some to bed in pairs

A friendly face knelt by our bed and through her sobs and tears

was trying very hard o say our good night prayers.

Where's mom I want my mom, someone cried from the other room.

All she said was "hush sweet children" she will be with you very soon.

We prayed, God bless Mary, Clare and John, Margaret, Paul and Leo

and please bless our baby sister, little Patricia.

God bless mom and keep her saft this night. God bless dad, let me be alright.

Oh angel of God, my guardian dear, stay close by his side,

through this night be with him to love and guard and guide.

As we were praying, he was dying in a hospital bed so far away.

Without a friendly hand to touch, or someone to say "I love you so much"

Without a child to hug and kiss good bye.

He died alone ... I wonder why?

John Edward Mackey (1865-1941)

The lilacs clung to the backyard fence, their sweet aroma filled the air and

drifted to the window where we stood.

She cried in loud and wailing sounds and held me oh so very tight.

I thought "I'm all she has to fight this fight"

And as the day grows into night and all the days and nights to follow,

I prayed God let me help her please, let me help her!

We watched the long grey line go slowly past the house, pass the school where he taught.

We heard the tolling of the bells, that sad low dirge of life's last ending.

The bells are golling faster now. The vast church doors are opened wide

engulfing the mourners and the man. The father, the husband of the lady by my side.

(Mary wrote this at age 11)

My Mother's Kitchen

I will always remember a day in December, the earth all covered with a blanket of snow, when

up from the kitchen I heard her voice calling, breakfast is ready, off to school you must go!

I nestle down furhter in feathers and flannel, for just one more moment of heavenly joy.

But footsteps on stairs and the Ave Maria to me it's time, the cold floor I must try.

Then the smells of the morning begin to surround me, engulfing my head and awakening my brain.

What special treat this morning awits me?

I dash down the stairs to my mothers' domain. The kitchen was always warm, like an overn, the kettle was singing, it's I'm ready refrian.

Whiskers curled up by the stove in the rocker, knowing for certain that's where she'll remain. A pot of the stove with the big wooding spoon tells me that oarmeal is what she will serve.

The table deched out in blue and white oilcloth is silled with freash butter, fresh bread and preserves.

Warm milk is poured on the steaming hot oatmeal, brown suger is sprinkled all over with care.

Then with a prayer of love and thanksgiving, a new day is beginning to learn and to share. Now my mother is smiling, school bells are calling, her kitchen is once again hers.

Except for old Whisker still asleep in the rocker and simply does nothing, just lies there and purrs.

Ode to Mother on Mother's Day

It's summer again, my bags are packed, I'm heading once more toward home.

To the rocks and rills and snow capped hills, the ocear, the bay and the new mown hay.

To walks and talks and family and friends, to a place where childhood neve rends.

T laughter and peace, to the soundest of sleep, to the heart of my heart, my own true love.

The one that loved me like no other, to the one that taught me how to dream.

To you my dearest Mother.

I love you, Mary

Our Last Goodbye

Knock softly love on that golden gate,

Linger awhile, oh what, please wait

Once you enter that golden door

You will be with here no more

Knock softly love ...

Will he we waiting there to greet you?

With family and friends you knew,

Will suddenly the Son of God be there

Within your view.

Will Mary take your hand in hers?

And lead you down a golden isle,

And Teresa hand you a rose

And on you gently smile ...

How can I ask you more to wait

The mysteries of life are yours,

Knock softly love - no more to wait

Walk quickly through the golden gate

Good Bye my love - For now Good Bye!

A Christmas Dream - It's the Night of the Child

by Mary Fleming (1992)

Sweet dreams, little children, there's no time to waste.

Your dolls and your toys are all in their place.

And you, with your teddy bear pressed close to your face,

must wait until morning - til morning to see,

What Santa will leave under your Christmas tree.

Your lamp turned down low, you're all tucked in,

and there in your door, your mom and dad with a grin.

With so much love and so much pride,

You know in your heart it's the night of the child.

It's such a wonderful night, it's so hard to sleep,

You would like to stay up and get one little peep.

To see if he's come through the chimney or door

and watch as he lays his big sack on the floor.

See how he checks off that very long list,

and smiles as he finds your own special gift.

He works very fast, laying out all the gifts.

Then he steps back with his hands on his hips,

and he makes a wish, the same wish he makes every year.

"God bless this house and the children so dear."

Then he looks around to make sure he's alone.

And whistles for someone in a very low tone.

Then he's gone, he just disappears.

But soon in the room, his two helpers appear.

Their arms are all loaded with wrappings and bows.

And they're all dressed in green, from their head to their toes.

They laugh and they talk, as they work through the night,

no sleep for them until morning light.

They look vaguely familiar, those two happy helpers.

I wish they would turn, but I can just see their backs

as they briskly assemble a train on its tracks.

Now a bright shining bike takes shape.

Skates and skis are all wrapped with haste.

A table and two tiny chairs. I see

what a wonderful sight under my Christmas tree.

Now the clocks strike four, the last president is wrapped.

All tied with the ribbon and bow.

And Santa's two helpers just sand hand in hand,

watching the tree all aglow.

And a feeling of peace. Sweeps over the earth.

Now it's time to pause and remember the birth.

Of a baby born to save all men so long ago in Bethlehem.

And his mother and father knelt by his crib

and kissed his cheeks so tenderly.

With so much love and so much pride,

they knew in their hearts it's the night of the child.