Clitherall Minnesota

Here are just a few of my favorite poems which Grandma K (Frances Bonniebell Kirschner or, as she would often sign them, FBK) wrote. She wrote poetry all her life. A poem would often just come to her seemingly out of nowhere and she would write it down on whatever was happened to be available—a napkin, scratch paper or the other side of a letter.


Remembrance is a golden dream

That makes the past live on

And gives our dear ones back to us

Long after they are gone




Morning is a witching maiden

At her dressing-table laden

With potential beauty second unto none;

On her cheeks a down-rose tinting,

Dew-drops in her bright hair glinting,

Little clouds her eyebrows printing,

Smiles that set the birds to singing,

one by one




In flowing robes the purple hills are dressed,

As day ends gently in the distant west,

A slender moon holds up a silver light,

And stars are woven on the loom of night.


You cut a pattern for the day,

You will do thus, and so, you say,

No word of yours shall wound another,

No thoughtless act a friendship smother,

With singing heart and spirits gay,

You fold the finished hours away,

And in the quiet evening air

You end your efforts with a prayer.




Try a bit of laughter,

Or a quiet smile;

Take a courage capsule

Every little while.

And, should all else fail you,

And your ills remain,

Use prayer for a poultice,

It will ease your pain.




When the stars are white, on a frosty night,

In an arch of crispy blue,

And the skates’ quick gleam is a silver stream,

Would you like to be skating too?

Would you like to be able to set the pace,

With a shrug for the zero weather,

When Life and Youth, with a flashing grace,

Go round the rink together.




Dashing through the snow

In a no horse, open sleigh

It must be lots of fun to ride

In a snowmobile today.



Is your home upon a hillside with a sidewalk sloping


Then you face a deadly menace since the skateboard

came to town.

We know it must be heaps of fun, and heaps it will


Of broken bones and bandages and teeth upon the


Now we’re not the type for skateboards, we do not

plan to use one;

Don’t look at us suspiciously if you should chance to

lose one.

We hope we do not step on one by accident some day,

And come down to good old Mother Earth in a disgraceful


Bicycles are built for balance, roller skates are lots

of fun,

But our children all have two feet—we’re not meant

to skate on one.

Now the hula hoop was harmless, and soon went its

whirling way,

It’s bright circles hang forgotten in most basement rooms today,

So parents, friends and grandmas, do not sigh and moan "Alas",

Face the flying skateboard menace with the thought,

"This too must pass."




What was this book I used to prize?

Oh what keepsake shall I name?

The tin-type of dear Aunt Mabel,

Quaint and comely in its frame?

So I worried as I sat there

Reading Mother Goose aloud—

Brushing up on Lucy Locket

And the Humpty Dumpty crowd.

On one arm a small hand resting,

So confiding, soft and warm,

And against one shoulder pressing

Is a cheek of baby charm,

Two bright heads with ribbons flying

Bows that never stay in place,

With sweet lifting eyes of childhood

Love is written on each face.

Vanishing past and future promise

Caught in rarely quiet mood,

And I know, of all my treasures,

I prize most my grandmahood.




We cannot touch the robe of Jesus,

As they did in Bible days,

And know ourselves forgiven

For the error of our ways;

But we can read His teachings,

And follow His commands,

And know our life eternal

Is secure within His hands.




Since death must come, let it be swift.

A sudden darkening of the day,

A sense that whispers "Come this way",

And then—the everlasting gift...............

Allen Hankins Jensen Kirschner Grinnell Whiting
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