Tribute to a Fallen Uncle Memorial Day in the heart of France To our fallen we pay homage due Late in May o’er the past we glance To an uncle that we never knew On foreign soil he lost his life For a country long mired in war And we recoil from the tales of strife And horror those brave men bore In duty and honor they paid the price That freedom so often demands Our debt we ponder, to keen sacrifice, Assuring that their memory stands So wreaths are laid and speeches made We salute with our 21 guns Respects are paid then Taps is played Thus we’ve honored our country’s sons Memorial Day in the heart of France To our fallen we pay homage due Late in May, a privileged chance From a dear uncle we never knew Cheri Scott, Grand Junction Grand Valley Power consumer-member
Spring Concert Melodic harmonious blend of sunrise spectacle, Concert orchestrated through divine inspiration. Brilliant daylight sounds: Fluted robins trill soprano notation, Trumpeting geese add martial brass. Morning mezzo-forte crescendos to Afternoon’s fleeting forte, Soon tempered to sonorous evening echoes: Sensual loons’ trombone slurs, Tympanic resonance of distant thunder. Melodic blends fade to pianissimo As sunset’s curtain closes; Nightfall shattering Spring’s pristine concert of emergence. Revolving planetary stage of God, Maestro of eternity’s score. Mary M. Dodson, Venango, NE Highline Electric consumer-member
Not Alone Out of my bedroom window I see your little white pansy face peeping over the edge of the pot. I planted you last year but you seem to be saying here I am again You are not alone, you are not alone. On a branch nearby I see a bird with its black beak and black tipped wings Shimmering in the early morning sunlight. It is calling to its mate or its babies, but it is also calling to me You are not alone, you are not alone. Inside my kitchen I pour a cup of steaming coffee. The aroma fills my heart as I warm my hands on the cup. Then the phone rings, I hear an excited voice. This is Shelley Shane. Is that you Mary? Do you remember we were at Barnard College together? I felt so alone this morning that I had to find you On Google I did, I scream with joy, And then we talk and talk And reminisce about all sorts of wonderful moments in our youth, Before she goes, she says We’ll talk again we will We are not alone, we are not alone. Elizabeth Brittan SDCEA consumer-member
The Day Before Spring The day before spring, just another day Wandering within a mountain wood, I listen Subtle tellings hold such a lesson and have such a lot to say A crystal stream lies whispering Struggling to shed its brittle mask The chatter increases with every warming drop The earth is gently pulling from beneath the glistening trance Sunning in the brilliance of a futures promise A lazy breeze rolls by, trees sing warning of summer Small silent creatures watch distantly Leaving delicate impressions to their past as the music of life emerges around them Not a symphony envisioned can encompass such songs of hope Nature gives itself again, an offering of new beginnings that embraces all who venture there I am reborn in the simple pattern, humbled by every detail On the day before spring, I listened I heard all there is to know The beginning and the ending awakens beneath the snow Jim Engel, Monument Mountain View Electric consumer-member
The Moon the Valley Lit A darkened moon, the valley lit. Nocturnal shadows played. The breeze did whisper silent sounds, As leaves and grasses swayed. The water moved its noiseless course In peaceful quiet flow, As drops of moonbeams fell upon The ripples there below. But something in the shadows there Made creatures pause in fear. For in the darkness danger lay. The predator was near. He moved unseen. Each step upon The forest floor he crept. Past burrows, nests, and hidden lairs Where daytime creatures slept. He smelled the air for sign or scent, A clue that might betray A careless one, a midnight feast, An unsuspecting prey. Then suddenly a broken twig Revealed to him his prize. He crouched in place without a sound And watched with piercing eyes. One more noise was heard that night, And death, the sound of it. Now, silence in the shadows where The moon the valley lit. L Jay McDonald, Nunn Poudre Valley REA consumer-member