Poetry

There have been some poems that I have heard throughout my life that have stuck with me. The first was a little rhyme I learned in the third grade. My teacher, Mrs. Lizotte, posted it by her door. I would see it every day as I entered the classroom:

Good, better, best,
never let it rest,
till the good gets better,
and the better gets best!

I took that on as my personal motto for many years, and thought of it often when I felt like giving up. Those of you who have tasted anything I've cooked know that I don't quite live by that philosophy anymore.

Another poem I think of often is a poem I had to memorize by Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are,
I think I know,
His house is in the village though,
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow,
My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake,
These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Those last two lines, it's almost like they haunt me. Those late nights when my list of things to do is still a mile long, I hear those lines mercilessly repeat in my mind, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

And the last poem I remember has left a profound imprint upon my life, as will be apparent to all who read it.

Crowded Bathtub
by Shel Silverstein

There's too many kids in this tub,
There are too many elbows to scrub,
I just washed a behind,
That I'm sure wasn't mine,
There's too many kids in this tub.

(All these poems have been typed from memory, and probably aren't correctly laid out, and are copyrighted not to be dispersed to large groups for profit so I won't get sued.)