Not many people read poetry these days. And it’s very hard for poets to get their poems published in 2020.
My dear husband, Baheej, loved poetry and was raised reading and reciting it. He read poetry every day right up to his death. Every morning. Sometimes in the afternoon, as well.
Oddly, my own mother liked poetry, which I think is unusual for someone who was raised on an Oklahoma wheat farm. She loved Robert Frost. She had never been to New England, but she read Frost to me in Minnesota, early in the morning. Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” was a favorite of hers, and so it is of mine.
Well, it’s not winter yet, but because of Labor Day, I am reminded of my dear parents and my childhood when Labor Day was a big holiday — not just because of family barbecues but big