We recently went to Amish Country, and one of my previously unfinished poems I have mentioned was about a little girl we saw while there. I’m going to have to apologise because I finished this about a week ago and didn’t take the time to post it.
Innocence in an Amish Girl
Little white snowdrop on slender green tower;
Dewdrop of white on a green, budding flower;
Shining, pale moon over treetops of green;
Tiny white bonnet on green dress so clean.
Bright, cur’ous eyes under young, golden lashes;
Plump, child-white fingers dance o’re wood like sashes;
Light lips kept mute by her shyness so mild—
Quickly, she smiles: A rare, pretty child.
The country and people we saw there were beautiful. Groups of young boys fishing together; little girls taking turns bouncing on a rectangular trampoline (I think it was home-made); families waving as they pass in black buggies pulled by the most complacent horses I have ever seen; hill upon hill of grass, wheat, and corn under clouded skies. Everything was beautiful. Thank God for people who show us how to live simply without selfish worries and cares.
Iris Temple 