The Littlest Star

The littlest star on my Christmas tree
is one that shines so bright for me.
It was placed there by a little boy
who has brought his dad and me much joy.
He cut the star from felt so white–
it even shines in the darkest night.
Now, our son has matured and grown.
He’s now a man with a home of his own.
He trims a different Christmas treeOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
in another state so far from me.
As I remember his childhood days
and think of all the many ways
he brought us joy and happiness,
I know how truly we are blessed,
and in the light of that little star
our wishes go so very far
to kiss a little boy on the head
in another state in a little bed.
And I speak to that Star of Bethlehem,
shine Thy light so brightly on him
so that Thy Truth he will grow to see
the Special Light of my Christmas tree!

© Freeda Baker Nichols

Christmas tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remembering Daddy on Father’s Day 2014

Walter Baker, Tammy & Greg 1958  -1

My dad, Walter Baker, in this picture, is showing new kittens to my children, Tammy and Greg. Daddy was a kind and loving father, who was proud of his seven children and all his grandchildren. He and Mama gave us a wonderful home life, a secure childhood, and instilled in us a love for God, family and country. I’ll always be thankful for my daddy.

Daddy’s Felt Hat
The hat of felt my daddy wore was bent
around the edges of its sweat-soaked brim;
my daddy wore it everywhere he went.
I keep it now in memory of him.
Inside a box it sits on closet shelf.
I often think I should discard it now,
and yet I simply cannot bring myself
to throw away the hat he wore to plow.
My daddy’s strength, his heart, his steel-blue eyes
made straight my path and edged my walk with pride
and gave me hope beneath bright sun-filled skies,
gray-dimmed and damp the day my daddy died.
The hat of rich worn felt looks out-of-place
away from daddy’s deep-lined, humble face.

Copyright 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols

Daddy’s Felt Hat

Walter Baker

Walter Baker

The hat of felt my daddy wore was bent
around the edges of its sweat-soaked brim;
my daddy wore it everywhere he went.
I keep it now in memory of him.
Inside a box it sits on closet shelf.
I often think I should discard it now,
and yet I simply cannot bring myself
to throw away the hat he wore to plow.
My daddy’s strength, his heart, his steel-blue eyes
made straight my path and edged my walk with pride
and gave me hope beneath bright sun-filled skies,
gray-dimmed and damp the day my daddy died.
The hat of rich worn felt looks out-of-place
away from daddy’s deep-lined, humble face.

Copyright 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols

Peppermint Sticks

Bluebird house for rent

 

 

 

 

 

Dad brought pink peppermint home in a sack
and gave it to my sis, Yvonne, and me,
each time he made his monthly trip to town.
My sis and I would race each other down
to meet our dad each time that he came back.
Yvonne school-hopped on past the white lilac.
She was the first to reach Dad– she was three
and I was only two years more than she.
Two sacks he held within his weathered hand.
We smiled and thought that he was simply grand.
He parked his Model T beside the fence,
then gave our mom a hug without pretense
and she was happy with cake flour he bought
but candy was the best thing that he brought.

© 2014,  Freeda Baker Nichols

Daddy’s Felt Hat

The hat of felt my daddy wore was bent
around the edges of its sweat-soaked brim;
my daddy wore it everywhere he went.
I keep it now in memory of him.
Inside a box it sits on closet shelf.
I often think I should discard it now,
and yet I simply cannot bring myself
to throw away the hat he wore to plow.
My daddy’s strength, his heart, his steel-blue eyes
made straight my path and edged my walk with pride
and gave me hope beneath bright sun-filled skies,
gray-dimmed and damp the day my daddy died.
    The hat of rich worn felt looks out-of-place
    away from daddy’s deep-lined, humble face. 

c Copyright 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols

This Shakespearean sonnet is one of my favorites.