By Dawn M. Knudsen
Do you see my mistakes as I walk through my day and think lower of me?
Or in the goodness that I try to do is what you will see?
Am I invisible as you walk by?
Someone you wouldn’t bother to tell hi?
People pass each other day by day.
Sometimes being afraid of what they may say.
They pass judgement good or bad as they go.
Putting others down with no remorse to show.
They use their electronics as their new wall
Instead of looking at the world they are instead waiting for their next call.
If I disappear would the world notice?
Or would that just be an excuse for another protest?
You hear a few words come from my lips and think you can judge my life’s story.
Life isn’t a joke to play like it’s some toy.
Sometimes I get lost in other’s perception of who I am instead of deciding for myself.
So finding out who I am instead of following others would become my greatest wealth.
“I have been married for almost 26 years. I raised three sons who all became Navy sailors. Throughout my life I traveled and lived in many places in the U.S.A. When I was younger one of my sisters and I had seizures. We heard of people with muscular dystrophy, so we asked our parents if we could raise money to help them. In the summer of 1980 my family and I walked 1200 miles for muscular dystrophy in Missouri. When I got older I became a Certified Nurses Aid until I got attacked a few years ago by a patient and decided to instead of giving up to come back to school.”
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“A Winter’s Night in Oneida County”
Adapted from a poem written by my Dad in 1984
Submitted by Doris McAllister
The snow has blown and drifted the whole dark and dreary day
And twilight’s icy shadows cross’d the land, the wind is still
The spruce trees by the road have stopped their sway
With darkness, skies have cleared
Night grimly takes its frigid stand
The winter stars snap hard and bright and brittle overhead
New moon’s faint, light glow in the western sky
Illuminates the stubble field
The long straight line fence through the further posts are indistinct
They’re capped with snow close-by
The temperature, now seven degrees below the zero mark
Makes snow squeak as I slowly move my feet
Mountain Cur whines softly as he senses the cheerless dark
Then turns to stare at where the black and deepest darkness meet
Stand here beside the barn by me
Vast silence absolute
Look at the stars
Here the deep hush
Revive your faith
Your hope
Your trust in God
Your soul shall then refute the cold, cruel voice of winter
Certain that April will arrive
“The poem was originally penned by my father in 1984. I had typed it for him on one of the first word processors that were becoming popular in the business world, and kept a copy of it. In 1999, I had it silk-screened on a piece of muslin fabric and gave it to him for his Christmas present on December 25 of that year. The memory of him looking at it, reading it, remembering it, is vivid to me still today; he passed away four days later.”
