My mother was raised in the country somewhere around Salisaw and Vian. An area where outlaws hid out. She delivered eggs to a neighbors house one day and Bonnie Parker was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning her gun. Bonnie smiled and said hi. Mother dropped the eggs and ran away. Pretty boy Floyd came by a few times and slept in their barn. Grandma would feed him cornbread and milk, he would give her some money and leave. They were dirt poor. My Dad said the first time he met grandma she was wearing a pair of men's shoes with no socks. They had a dirt floor.
I was always amazed that we lived in a small house and didn't have much. Her wedding ring was so small and pitiful looking to me. But she couldn't be happier if she had a mansion and a 10 karat diamond. She died of Lymphoma when I was 13. She suffered for 5 years. I was mad and defied God for taking my mother. I didn't understand then that it was a blessing that her suffering had stopped. I'm sure God has forgiven me but I still feel bad about it.
Not a day goes by after 47 years that I don't think about her and sometimes I shed a few tears. I know she's in a good place. I just hope I can find her when my time comes.
If I were to draw for you a picture of love divine, It would not be that of a stately Angel with a form that is full of grace but the face of an Angel of pity with a grave and tender face. Her hands are not white and slender, but roughened with work and woe, by bearing others burdens and soothing the tears that flow. No halo of light surrounds her, nor rosy her cheeks nor fair. But the face of an Angel of pity framed in snow white hair. Others may paint their Angels with white robed forms of grace, but my sweet Angel of pity has my mothers care worn face.
I was always amazed that we lived in a small house and didn't have much. Her wedding ring was so small and pitiful looking to me. But she couldn't be happier if she had a mansion and a 10 karat diamond. She died of Lymphoma when I was 13. She suffered for 5 years. I was mad and defied God for taking my mother. I didn't understand then that it was a blessing that her suffering had stopped. I'm sure God has forgiven me but I still feel bad about it.
Not a day goes by after 47 years that I don't think about her and sometimes I shed a few tears. I know she's in a good place. I just hope I can find her when my time comes.
If I were to draw for you a picture of love divine, It would not be that of a stately Angel with a form that is full of grace but the face of an Angel of pity with a grave and tender face. Her hands are not white and slender, but roughened with work and woe, by bearing others burdens and soothing the tears that flow. No halo of light surrounds her, nor rosy her cheeks nor fair. But the face of an Angel of pity framed in snow white hair. Others may paint their Angels with white robed forms of grace, but my sweet Angel of pity has my mothers care worn face.
My mother was raised in the country somewhere around Salisaw and Vian. An area where outlaws hid out. She delivered eggs to a neighbors house one day and Bonnie Parker was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning her gun. Bonnie smiled and said hi. Mother dropped the eggs and ran away. Pretty boy Floyd came by a few times and slept in their barn. Grandma would feed him cornbread and milk, he would give her some money and leave. They were dirt poor. My Dad said the first time he met grandma she was wearing a pair of men's shoes with no socks. They had a dirt floor.
I was always amazed that we lived in a small house and didn't have much. Her wedding ring was so small and pitiful looking to me. But she couldn't be happier if she had a mansion and a 10 karat diamond. She died of Lymphoma when I was 13. She suffered for 5 years. I was mad and defied God for taking my mother. I didn't understand then that it was a blessing that her suffering had stopped. I'm sure God has forgiven me but I still feel bad about it.
Not a day goes by after 47 years that I don't think about her and sometimes I shed a few tears. I know she's in a good place. I just hope I can find her when my time comes.
If I were to draw for you a picture of love divine, It would not be that of a stately Angel with a form that is full of grace but the face of an Angel of pity with a grave and tender face. Her hands are not white and slender, but roughened with work and woe, by bearing others burdens and soothing the tears that flow. No halo of light surrounds her, nor rosy her cheeks nor fair. But the face of an Angel of pity framed in snow white hair. Others may paint their Angels with white robed forms of grace, but my sweet Angel of pity has my mothers care worn face.
I was always amazed that we lived in a small house and didn't have much. Her wedding ring was so small and pitiful looking to me. But she couldn't be happier if she had a mansion and a 10 karat diamond. She died of Lymphoma when I was 13. She suffered for 5 years. I was mad and defied God for taking my mother. I didn't understand then that it was a blessing that her suffering had stopped. I'm sure God has forgiven me but I still feel bad about it.
Not a day goes by after 47 years that I don't think about her and sometimes I shed a few tears. I know she's in a good place. I just hope I can find her when my time comes.
If I were to draw for you a picture of love divine, It would not be that of a stately Angel with a form that is full of grace but the face of an Angel of pity with a grave and tender face. Her hands are not white and slender, but roughened with work and woe, by bearing others burdens and soothing the tears that flow. No halo of light surrounds her, nor rosy her cheeks nor fair. But the face of an Angel of pity framed in snow white hair. Others may paint their Angels with white robed forms of grace, but my sweet Angel of pity has my mothers care worn face.
