A forgotten poem

I don't write many poems these days, but there were times in the past when I wrote many of them.  During one period of my life, I tried to write a poem of some kind every day.  They used to all be on a computer of the past, but eventually, most of them disappeared.  Before computers, I didn't even try to save them all, only the ones I thought were above average.

I was more perceptive back then, and often saw or heard something being said, or something happening, that furnished a story I could put to rhyme; I only write rhyming poems and songs, no free verse or haiku for me, probably because I grew up on Mother Goose nursery rhymes.  Sometimes people would approach me at church or at work and say, "It's so-and-so's birthday, could you write a poem?" or "We're having an anniversary party for my sister and her husband... could you write a poem or song?"  

I'd ask them to write down a page full of things about the people with some dates included if possible (because most numbers rhyme with other words, and I'll use them to rhyme with in the next line).  For the most part, I didn't keep the poems or songs I wrote about individual people, because they wouldn't apply to others; they were unique to that person or couple, and I'd have no cause to ever use them again.

Once in a while, someone will mention to me a poem I did for them, years ago, and will tell me they have it tucked away someplace where they can read it from time to time.  At various jobs, I'd think of a co-worker who might be going through something, write a poem for them, and hand it to them the next day.  

Yesterday I got an instant message on Facebook from someone named Stefanie.  She started out, "Hi Donna.  This is going to seem weird, but did you work with Vicki ______ around 1986-87 at the orchard?  She is my mother. She passed away and I'm going through some of her things and found a poem called "Margie" written by Donna Wood..."

"It was probably me," I typed back. "I've written so many poems over the years, I don't remember them all."

She sent me pictures of two pages of words in my handwriting. The poem told a story about how her mother had intervened in a difficult situation with a woman co-worker named Margie, hence the name of the poem. I don't want to share it here on my blog because if the wrong local person were to read this, they might take offence. The rhyme scheme is really sort of mediocre, like many of my hastily written poems, but the story it tells is pretty good.

But I have no memory of either of the two co-workers mentioned in the poem! She even sent me a picture of her mother; she looks somewhat familiar, but no, I don't even recall that very pleasant face.

She said, "I absolutely loved the poem. Hope you have a good day."

I told her, "I'm glad the poem blessed both your mother and you," and thanked her for sharing it with me.

The rest of the day I thought about a Bible verse in Ecclesiastes chapter 11: "Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again." The "easy-to-read" version of the Bible says it this way: "Do good wherever you go. After a while, the good you do will come back to you."

I'm thankful this poem I wrote forty years ago floated back to me on the waters of time.