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Special Occasions
-- by Frank Halliwell, Jimboomba, Australia -Public Domain -- rhymer@poetic.com

She recognized the wrapping as she took it from the drawer,
She'd been with her sister when she bought it many years before.
She unwrapped the tissue paper and fingered the finespun lace,
And as the memories flooded back she pictured Kathy's face.


She'd bought the slip during a trip about ten years ago,
And she paid a fortune for it, I was there and I should know!
It was pretty and expensive, and I often heard her say..
She was saving it for "special, it's too nice for everyday!"


We were at Kathy's apartment, and were sorting through her things,
Trying hard to find some meaning in the shock tragedy brings.
A lot of clothes for charities were piled up on the bed,
And a pile for the mortician at the corner of the spread.


Harry took the filmy slip and held it for a while,
Then he placed it very gently on the small "mortician's pile".
He slammed the dresser drawer shut and he spoke, angrily glum..
"Forget special occasions, Sis, to-morrow may not come!"


I thought about those angry words through the sad weeks ahead,
And all those things "for special days" laid out on Kathy's bed,
..The places that she'd never been and things she'd never done,
Because she couldn't find the time to do things just for fun!


I still think about those eight words, and how they've changed my life,
Though many years have faded since that time of pain and strife.
These days you'll find me reading more, and dusting somewhat less,
I never did like housework much, I really must confess.


And there are more inportant things than polishing the stair,
And pressing sheets and bedclothes, and children's underwear,
And dusting round the cornices and behind all the books,
Cause it really doesn't matter, and no one ever looks!


I can write old friends the letters I was going to write "someday",
And silence that small nagging voice that has so much to say,
Or maybe mend some fences for some harsh words that I said,
To-morrow might be too late, for I could just wake up dead!


I may laze on the patio, and gaze up at the sky,
And watch the big jet aeroplanes and fluffy clouds roll by,
I don't want to do it "sometime", because fate may not allow.
If it's something that's worth doing, then I want to do it now!


We don't save our best bone china for those "special events",
Cause every day is special, now that we have found some sense,
And if I wake to-morrow, even if the skies are gray,
I'll rise and put my best smile on, 'cause it's a special day!

Credit: This poem was developed from a story by Ann Wells of the Los Angeles Times. -- Discovered on the Internet.

Frank Halliwell E-mail = rhymer@poetic.com
HOME at http://www.home.gil.com.au/~rhymer
www.oceanside.com/poetry.html

***

While prose may carry all the facts, the voice of verse is sweeter,
For poetry transports the soul on lilting rhyme and meter.


If you would like to post one of your own poems please send us an e-mail.

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