The following comes to us from a Vermont poet I had the pleasure of meeting years ago, first through a mutual friend and then again when she taught at the Green Mountain Writers’ Conference, a yearly conference I often attend to keep my writing tools sharpened and creative juices flowing.
I share Ruth’s poem here today as I found it timely…
Advice
by Ruth Stone
My hazard wouldn’t be yours, not ever;
But every doom, like a hazelnut, comes down
To its own worm. So I am rocking here
Like any granny with her apron over her head
Saying, lordy me. It’s my trouble.
There’s nothing to be learned this way.
If I heard a girl crying help
I would go to save her;
But you hardly ever hear those words.
Dear children,
You must try to say
Something when you are in need.
Don’t confuse hunger with greed;
And don’t wait until you are dead.
But every doom, like a hazelnut, comes down
To its own worm. So I am rocking here
Like any granny with her apron over her head
Saying, lordy me. It’s my trouble.
There’s nothing to be learned this way.
If I heard a girl crying help
I would go to save her;
But you hardly ever hear those words.
Dear children,
You must try to say
Something when you are in need.
Don’t confuse hunger with greed;
And don’t wait until you are dead.