To Joyce On Our 35th Wedding Anniversery

Today is one of the proudest achievements of my life. I have been married to Joyce for 35 years. They have all been good years, no matter our state or status because I have had the pleasure and privilege of walking by her side and calling her my wife. In honor of our thirty-five years as man and wife, I wanted to share a poem I wrote for Joyce in 2000. It's called Wyndhill. That is the name she gave our little plot of land when we bought it. Joyce loves gardens, which have how reached a total of five. I realize this poem has nothing to do with stocks and bonds, but it has to do with something better, a life well-lived. If I could grow up to be anybody, I would grow up to be Joyce. Not because she has me for a husband, that is her only weakness. I would grow up to be Joyce because of her love for God, all his creation, and all people great and small. She has taught me a lot about a lot of things, but I thank her most for teaching me about love, and God's love most particularly. Wyndhill So it is on Wyndhill She walks among the dahlias and lilies, and like seasoned symphonists They reach to her and anticipate her every move. The oak leaf hydrangeas, shy in their splendor, whisper to each other Of the Lady’s steps, but hold their breath when she comes near. The black walnuts come to attention and stand in full parade attire and attitude As she moves among their ranks. The troop of dancing peonies calls to the lady to skip her duties and come Play with them in the vanishing sun. The azaleas and rhododendron, decked out in scandalous colors, do long riffs Of jazz to the disdain of the others. So it is on Wyndhill We all wear our Sunday best and show our most flattering sides In hopes that the Lady will come and spend some time with us: That she will touch our bellies and wash our faces; That she will bind up our broken limbs and untangle our hair. All of us have been at seed in our days. All of us have looked out from behind tall weeds that engulfed and encumbered us. All of us have wondered if we would ever sing and dance and laugh again. Certainly, all of us know that we are God’s creation, but just as certainly We know that the lady is a friend of God’s. So it is on Wyndhill. To JED from GCD January 29, 2000