Verbal Enchantress
In misty morns, where children shyly tread.
A grace, like chiffon swirls, adorn the dawn.
A spectral dance until the night was gone.
You played with peaks and veiled the paths ahead.
A grace, like chiffon swirls, adorn the dawn.
A spectral dance until the night was gone.
You played with peaks and veiled the paths ahead.
In wagons where the rain upon them fell.
Many journeys made through harsh lands were met.
With faith unbroken, courage firmly set,
Their spirit strong through every storm they quelled.
A legacy, a guide, a steadfast light.
Her strength and courage paved a path today.
Through her endurance, she found her own way.
Pioneer spirit in her heart glowed bright.
Her words, like violet blooms, enchant the night,
Great Grandma Moss, her poems bring delight.
Written format: English Shakespearean Sonnet (ABBA CDDC EFFE GG)
Content taken from: Poems written by Great Grandma Nina Folsom Moss
She (1965)
I saw her lift her head from the lake, then, gathering her dripping mantle about her, hesitated a moment before floating upward to play with the wind.
Gracefully swaying, with outstretched arms, more dancing than running, she lifted first one foot and then the other to open the folds of her gray white chiffon shroud into exquisite swirls and eddies. At close of day she rested in the foothills with towering peaks for a background. As I slept, she played her usual prank of spreading a canopy about my home.
Today - I can not see my neighbors home, though it be not far away. Through the dimness, a yellow blur of light guides the children to the entry of their home; I miss the shaking of the rug by the mother and the antics and frolic of the family. There is a strange quietness about their coming and going.
Today - spectral images step along the path to school. In twos and threes, with parka hoods drawn close about their faces, they pause at the crossing of the roads and peer into the mist for the arming lights of approaching cars.
***** missing more pages?
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Dear Lord!
Dear Lord! I thank thee for my good bed
with fitted sheet and light o'er head
A sunny room, with curtains trim
a place of rest, when daylight dims
Now, Grandma's diary is quite glum
"It's rained six days, with little sun;
My bed is wet, no chance to dry.
I almost hear her mournful cry.
In wagon box, which she called "home"
Packed to the inch, each item known,
With water dripping overhead.
She knelt, and thanked him for that wet bed.
Now, who amI to take my ease
On spring filled mattress, designed to please
Coddled and pampered from day to day
Ingratitude showing in many a way
Help me to honor this good bed
With fitted sheet and light overhead
Teach me to help some soul on it's way
In Eternity's quest - do this, I pray.
by Nina Folsom Moss
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The Urge
They did not choose a place to die
Plague, child birth, hunger, cold.
But when the reaper clasp their hand
They close their eyes and passed beyond
The third mound over - second now-
They laid my son - my only son-
No need to chart or it down
Too soon this place will be no more.
Three wagon spokes, a cairn of rock,
A splintered board with marking crude.
And still from out the rain soaked east
They cam - passed on to the setting sun.
What was this urge, this pounding force
That welled within and drove them on?
A destiny - now lost - now found,
Eternity's law timed by a Mighty hand.
by Nina Folsom Moss
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Green Heels
High heeled shoes, they must be green,
No matter what the color scheme.
Old silk dress, pinned up to fit,
No matter what the hue of it.
Lace curtain stole, my last years hat,
Cast off purse full of this and that;
Clatter, clatter from door to door,
That, my dears, is my granddaughter.
1959 Nina F Moss
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Maurine's Clock
In the middle of the night,
"Cuckoo!"
At dawn's first ray of light,
"Cuckoo!"
But, should I wish to know
The time to bake my dough,
No "Cuckoo", the weight hangs low.
1959 - Nina F. Moss
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Western Autumn
White face trailin' down the canyons
Sheep herd blockin' off the road
Cowboy slouchin' in his saddle
Restin' now from ridin' hard.
Paisley shawls spread out on hillsides
Great goose wingin' over head
Milk meed seed a floatin', sourin'
Cold creek lazyin' in it's bed.
White cap glistenin' on you high peak
Buck elk wayin' at each sound
Red shirt sightin' through his focal
Point dog sniffin, whimperin' round.
Pine cone droppin', gray squirrel scamperin'
Flicker hammerin' up side down
Red dipped maple bendin', bowin'
Crisp grass au' tulle reed turnin' brown
by Nina Folsom Moss
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African Violets
One leaf I pluck from your violet rare,
And then proceeding with great care
Suspend it in some water.
As if by magic, soon I see
Wee rootlets floating, gropingly, to me enchanting
In mix prepared, proportions tested,
I place my treasure, roots from nested
Awaiting God's great marnel.
due time, fairy faces smile at me
Hooded in orchid, full of glee
your countenance reflected.
1958 Nina F Moss
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Big Mountain
I hope the leaves were russet, green, chartreuse, and red and golden,
That orchid gray grew up between,
when Grandma crossed Big Mountain.
And as she looked, with tired eyes,
At yonder sun baked desert-
God's autumn garden round her there
Gave courage, where had been despair,
To block those wheels, plunge headlong down
Over rock and rut along the trail
Into the promised valley
July 1950
clipped form the RELIEF SOCIETY MAGAZINE
Lyrics for a song by Nina Folsom Moss
Composed by Nina F. Moss for an entertainment given by Camp Eutaw
Tune: Auld Sang Syne
IF you a member of this camp
Would be, in very deed,
Your papers must be filled right out,
Before they go to seed.
Your "siren" name and then the "dame"
The "greats" both large and small,
The "date" for this, the "time" for that,
And who did what and all.
The task you'll find a pleasing one
And if you're up to snuff.
You'll learn so many lovely things,
With pride, you then will puff.
Chorus:
Your papers ladies do get out.
You'll find them up to par,
And if you don't quite understand
Just ask the registrar.
(I was registrar at this time and again later)
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Those Pioneers
Pioneer songs compiled by Daughters of Utah Pioneers p.34
Ladies Trio
They left their homes, loved ones, and all.
To heed salvations burning call
What sorrow they in meekness bore
They passed it by, who could do more.
Refrain:
We cannot hope to e'er repay
In what we do or what we say
So to the faith, hold fast, remain
Their efforts shall not be in vain.
They came by ox team, handcart too.
No train was there, to bring them through
To Indian lands and desert blue.
To make them there a home a new.
They builded well in mountains high
San praises to their god most high.
He was their choice, he led them through,
They e'er remaining firm and true.
Words and music by: Nina F. Moss
1932
