I See Him Sleeping Like An Angel

The Tree of Life at Woodcliff Lake

Autumn, Though I Prefer To Call It Fall

Sunday, Glorious Sunday

How Do I Miss You, Let Me Count The Ways


I See Him Sleeping Like An Angel

He is breathing; I know he needs that sleep,
as much as I need his love and his friendship.
We can't give each other gifts, or money.
But it meant so much to him when I looked
into his eyes, extended my hand to him,
hugged him, and said the words, I Love You.

When apart, I sent him letters. I wrote,
"I enjoy being with you.
You are a pleasure to be with,
and a treasure to have as a friend."

— Deanne F. Purcell

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The Tree of Life at Woodcliff Lake

The tree has stood there many years
in front of Woodcliff Lake Health and Rehab Center,
in New Jersey,
"a healing place between hospital and home."
I call it the Tree of Life.

When Hurricane Sandy destroyed trees on Chestnut Lane,
this tree proudly stood the battle and won —
The Tree of Life at Woodcliff Lake

— Deanne F. Purcell

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Autumn, Though I Prefer to Call it Fall

Autumn has come, though I prefer to call it Fall.
The leaves turn bright colors —
red, orange, yellow, purple.
Some remain green, then turn brown, and eventually drop.
We turn the clocks back an hour.
There is more darkness.
We change to warmer clothes,
return to school and from vacation —
a chance to learn and be a better person.

I don't remember raking leaves,
but recall collecting leaves of beautiful colors,
and pressing them inside books for my enjoyment.
Packing away summer clothing;
unpacking garments with long sleeves and darker colors,
and boots for snowy, slippery, wintery days

— Deanne F. Purcell

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Sunday, Glorious Sunday

Sunday, Glorious Sunday,
a day of rest and worship.
Go to Church and pray;
give thanks to God for what we have,
and what we don't.
Grant us to know right from wrong.
Show us how to smile, laugh, help others,
Be the best that we can be,
Until He decides to bring us home
to reunite in Heaven
with those that we have lost.

— Deanne F. Purcell

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How Do I Miss You, Let Me Count The Ways

I miss you as a flower misses water,
Like a tree branch misses leaves
Like fruits and vegetables and flowers
miss their proper seasons
Like snow misses rain.

I miss placing my arms about your shoulders.
I miss your gentle touch and smile,
without you to greet me, morning, noon and night,
and all the hours in between.
But most would I miss, not ever having known you,
talked to you, sat beside you, stood by your bedside,
felt the comfort of your hand in mine.
When I had nothing left,
God saved the best for last.

— Deanne F. Purcell

above poems
Copyright by Deanne F. Purcell

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