Letters to the editor for Sunday, Nov. 22, 2015

The Nevada Appeal asked reader’s to submit poems for Thanksgiving; below are the submissions:

Unknown Author’s Thanksgiving poem

The following, a wee bit reworked Thanksgiving verse found amid the pages of an old family poetry book, the verse composed by that famous author, Author Unknown.

Author Unknown is credited with the composition of more prolific and wonderful poetry than any known author (sadly). Then, along came Carson City poet, Thane, to the rescue and caringly redress in readiness for the most sharing time of the year:

What we share

When we share laughter, there is twice the fun;

When we share success, we’ve surpassed what we’ve done.

When we share problems, there’s half the pain;

When we share our tears, a rainbow’s the gain.

When we share our dreams, they become more real;

When we share secretes, our hearts we reveal.

If we share a smile, that is when our love shows,

If we share a hug, that’s when our love grows.

If we share with someone on whom we depend,

That someone can always be counted a friend.

And now with Thanksgiving coming around,

We’re reminded that sharing will always abound;

For what draws us closer can make us all care,

It’s not what we have, but the things that we share!

Thane Cornell

Carson City

Thanksgiving

I am thankful for desert and mountains beautiful

Providing life and nature so bountiful.

I am thankful for clean water to drink

For baths, laundry and to wash dishes in the sink

I’m thankful for love from friends and family

Coming from far away and locally

I’m thankful for neighbors helpful and kind

Who see my need, don’t turn away blind

Mostly I’m thankful to have reached my senior years

Through work and love and many tears.

Jan Martinez

Dayton

Are we thankful?

Are we thankful?

Yes, indeed

Our health our safety

And all our needs

If you don’t think so

Throw your cares in the air

You’ll want them back

Rather than trade them there.

Sometimes it’s so hard to see

But when we become grateful

It’s humbling indeed.

Thank you, yes, thank you,

For love so divine

Our family, our friends

Our neighbors so fine.

If you’re not thankful

On any given day,

Remember, the love in your heart

Wasn’t put there to stay.

Love and thankfulness

Must be given away.

Jenny Schnabel

Carson City

Autumn

The leaves of autumn gently fall

Upon the chilling earth,

And sparrows dart through

Crisp, sharp air in frenzied flight,

While ghosts of snowmen stir.

The roots begin the long, dark sleep,

And slender fingers of the sun

Retreat behind the Northern Sky

To rest until the seeds awake

And call for warmth again.

The autumn gods, whose touches

Set the trees to blaze, splash colors

Here and there upon the dying leaves

So that they die with dignity.

These gods resume their roaming

Through the woods,

Until the winter snow consumes

Their marks behind a mask of white.

Gene J. Giudice

Carson City

Thanksgiving Day

The wind was chilling to the bone

It whipped the cape about him.

The tiny waif, clinging to his hand,

Hid her reddened face,

Wiped the tears best she can.

Her skin was chaffed

All red and cracked.

And how her cold hands stung!

Shoes clung to her tiny feet,

What was left, coming all undone.

And he, not really better off,

Just a scarf upon his chest.

A shirt with long, worn-out sleeves,

A cap upon his head,

And holes in his pants at both knees.

His shoes, too, had seen better days.

To many a door they tread

Seeking work to feed child and self,

Maybe somewhere to stay,

Something to eat, what others left.

As they trudged on, the old man thought

Of the rich in houses so fine,

Of the warmth of their fires,

Tables spilling with food,

A musician fingering a lyre.

It was oh, so cold. They were weary, too.

Soon the rain would be coming down.

The child would get sick

Without some little heat

Even that of a slow-burning wick.

At last, a place, though out of the way,

Was a warm light greeting them.

They tapped at the door hoping,

Waiting for what might come,

When slowly, the door began opening.

A young boy stood beside the door

Peering into the black of night.

He smiled when he saw them standing there

To his father he spoke,

“A man and a child on their fare.”

The father stood up and went to the door,

Smoke rising from his pipe.

Then, he opened the door wide,

“Come in, come in,” he called,

“It’s nice and warm inside.”

They had something to eat

And stayed the night.

In the morning, pipe in hand,

“Need you hurry on so fast?

It’s Thanksgiving Day, my man.”

“But are you sure? We could move on.”

“Now, I’ll not hear any of that,”

The plump wife wiped her hands,

“The child is tired, and if you don’t mind,

She could use a mother’s help.”

“Thanking you very kindly, madame,

The child has never known one.

She’ll be delighted, I’m sure. As for me,

I confess, it’s been a long time.”

“Then for sure, it’s staying, you’ll be!”

So they warmed themselves

By the glow of the fire

And the goodness of their hosts.

The girl and boy playing,

Laughed at each corn kernel roasts.

And when the table was set,

“Come now, all. Up to the table.”

Sweet-smelling food filled the air.

A quiet moment, they bowed their heads

And joined together in prayer.

”God bless this food we have this day,

And all things, all year long.

Bless these, who sit and sup with us,

For their journey, may they be well,

And in You find their trust.”

As that Thanksgiving Day declined

And night fell softly down,

That house was filled with joy and peace

For the fortunate wayfarers

And their kindly host, each.

Mary Santomauro

Stagecoach