Hi Gordy,
I know you're off to Mesa with mom right now but I'll send this to you.Have been meaning to since mom visited us in January.  I thought maybeyou could put it under stories in the Geurink page.  I think the familymight enjoy it.  I certainly never knew she had memorized all thoseverses during her grade  school days.It's kind of long but this is how I sent the message to Pam after mom'svisit.
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Today mom sent me the poem that she recited when she was here.  "The
First Snowfall".  She had all but 3 of the verses.   She said she wasn't
sure of the author. I looked it up on the internet and found that it was
written by James Russell Lowell.   The morning we were to take her back
to Wausau we were having a snow storm. Mom came out of her room in her
bathrobe reciting a poem "The First Snowfall". There were many verses.
After that she sat down in the recliner, folded her arms in front
of her, and recited the entire poem "The Children's Hour".  She had all
the verses and I know because I had a poetry book nearby and so I picked
it up and followed along. I'll send them to you, thinking you would like
both of them and the fact that  your grandma can recite them from her
memories in 3rd to 5th grade.  She said of The First Snowfall; "One
big girl could not master the 2nd verse and had to stand before the
class day after day and repeat over and over so I'm not apt to forget
that!!"
                        The First Snowfall
                       James Russell Lowell
              (as memorized by Annie in 5th grade)

              The snow had begun in the gloaming.
              And busily all the night
              Had been heaping field and highway
              With a silence deep and white.

              Every pine and fir and hemlock
              Were ermine too dear for an earl,
              And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
              Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.

              From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
              Came Chanticlear's muffled crow;
              The stiff rails softened to swan's down,
              And still fluttered down the snow.

              I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
              Where a little headstone stood;
              How the flakes were folding it gently,
              As did robins the babes in the wood.

              Up spoke our own little Mable,
              Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
              And I told of the good All-Father
              Who cares for us here below.

              Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
              And she, kissing back, could not know
              That my kiss was given to her sister,
              Folded close under deepening snow.

(note)
Carrara is a beautiful white marble produced in Carrara, Italy. Sweet
Auburn was the name of a cemetery, and Blanch the little sister who died
before Mabel was born. All early families had the hardship of losing
family members

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The Children's Hour
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

>From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away