A man of experience stops making
The same old mistakes (tried and true ones);
After all, on this road we are taking,
There seems to be plenty of new ones.
by Ray Romine Saturday, January 13, 1951
Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
A man of experience stops making
The same old mistakes (tried and true ones);
After all, on this road we are taking,
There seems to be plenty of new ones.
by Ray Romine Saturday, January 13, 1951
What as a youth I threw away
And wish I oould buy back today .
by Ray Romine Sunday, June 18, 1950
The date I didn’t keep last night;
The letter I forgot to write;
The horse they tipped me couldn’t lose;
The invitation I refuse;
The fountain pen that cannot leak;
The cuff link I must always seek;
The postage stamp that ought to stick;
What’s left when I’m told “Take your pick”;
The stubborn friend I cannot move–
A lot of little items prove
The cockeyed world in which we live
Is positively negative!
by Ray Romine Monday, August 13, 1951
The teacher said No Tattling!
Yet, when we got unruly,
She bounced out to the principal
And told him on yours truly.
Whether in or out of schools,
Grown-ups only MAKE the rules .
by Ray Romine Saturday, October 16, 1948
I do love the guy who won’t answer my knock
Till I’m of his front porch, and away down the block.
by Ray Romine Monday, October 14, 1946
–You don’t tell Angels by their wings:
Significance lies in trifling things.
by Ray Romine Monday, September 8, 1947
The rich Uncle who furnished the dough
Finds he was a little bit slow
In discovering relations
In tense situations
Say “Pardon me, Uncle”–and blow.
by Ray Romine Friday, January 26, 1951
“You’ll never miss the water til the well runs dry–“
And come to think of it, why should I?
by Ray Romine Wednesday, January 3, 1951
Threatened daily by earthquake, tornado and fire,
Auto, flood, taxes and forebodings dire,
Plus a horde of diseases to which I am host,
It’s still the wee atom that frightens me most!
by Ray Romine Sunday, July 30, 1950
When I came in your bank at 9,
I grabbed the very shortest line.
The long lines seemed to disappear;
It’s closing time, and I’m still here.
by Ray Romine Sunday, June 11, 1950