Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
He makes what seems to be a flying leap
Upon his trusty steed of paint and steel;
Stands hard upon the pedals then, to reel
Across the tovm, for energy is cheap.
How many years have passed I hardly dare
Remember, since I had his careless air….
by Ray Romine Saturday, March 10, 1951
He pushed himself along the walk and muttered:
“I wisht I had a two-wheeled bike like Bill’s.”
While Bill grew tired of pedalling and uttered,
“Some day I’ll have a car Just like Aunt Lil’s .”
Aunt Lil , blasé, dreams of a trip to Haiti–
I wonder what I’ll wish for when I’m eighty?
by Ray Romine Thursday, March 23, 1950
Booted, capped, he enters
Our south woods on his ovm.
He’s a sturdy Independent–
But he isn’t all alone.
For the tall weeds in the bottom
Are Knighthood’s really great,
And behind each shagbark hickory
An Indian lies in wait.
The sycamore that’s hollow
Is sea-going–man the pumps!
Or he is a carefree cowboy
Herding scattered stumps.
The birds and squirrels chatter.
To a fellow not-quite grown;
For a woods is full of secrets,
And you’re never all alone!
by Ray Romine Sunday, April 4, 1954
Although he spills milk on the rug,
He gives his Mom a bear-size hug;
And when he bumps into the vase
There’s sorrow written on his face.
If he disbuds our largest rose,
Great teardrops trickle down his nose.
He is, when skates make daddy fall,
Apologetic, after all.
The shattered plaque? One mournful stroke
Disposes of it: “Junior broke.”
Among the shattered ruins, I
Regard the boy, and softly sigh.
Sometimes you’d be downright resourceful
To tell who is the more remorseful!
by Ray Romine Friday, February 15, 1952
He sits upon a hill against the sky
And contemplates infinity alone,
With chin in hand. His eyes are far away,
Fixed on some dream adults might not condone
If they could understand. The world about
Him disappears while unreality
Turns wholly real as he jets to a star
Or shines before King Arthur on one knee.
His dog beside him makes no slightest sound–
Devotion deep as master is profound.
by Ray Romine Monday, July 2, 1951
He’s a nosey little ruffian,
Friendly and infomal,
Soiled, tattered, boisterous–
And normal!
by Ray Romine Sunday, April 4, 1954
These same old rounds the same old way
Sometimes get very tiring;
And yet a milkman, if he looks,
Can find some things inspiring.
There’s Mrs. A, who’s always proud
Of her small brood of seven;
And next door, Mrs. B declares
Her garden is her heaven.
There’s the way the newly-weds on Elm
Light up each time they smile;
And the crippled kid on down the block
With the never-say-die style.
And don’t forget the Beauty Queen
I knew when she was two;
And Dad. who watched the burg grow up,
Who’ll reminisce with you.
So, when the old route palls a bit,
I tell me: Allez oop!
You’re a vital part of each when you
Place milk upon his stoop.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 19, 1950
Don’t say those unclean things, old bean
About your Ration Board;
The bulwark, it, of our cuisine,
And things we can’t afford.
by Ray Romine Thursday, March 30, 1944
When Junior was a pink-faced Two
His mother used to tell him “Boo!”.
But now he’s grown and has his car–
And with Statistics what they are–
When he stays out til after two,
I wonder who is scaring who?
by Ray Romine Friday, July 9, 1948
I know the book reviewers panned it;
And some communities have banned it;
But I’ll accept it, once I’ve scanned it,
If only I can understand it……
by Ray Romine Thursday, February 8, 1951