A Drummer's Song

The drums roll
The symbols crash
The bass’ pound
A drummer’s song.

The timpani sounds
The snares beat
The bongos tap
A drummer’s song.

Without the drummer
The band would die
So don’t ever forget
The drummer’s song.

Randa Lee Hanes
Written in 2003

Copyright ©2010 Randa Lee Hanes

Irish Hills

The music rings
Through Irish hills
Fiddles, guitars, and banjos
Through lakes, streams,
And riverside mills.

Oh, the Irish lad
Sings the fiddler’s song
And climbs Irish hills
As the day is long.

The song of the drunken
Young Irish man
Is foolish and dumb
With rum in hand.

Upon the very top
Of an Irish hill
Is the Blarney Castle
With stone kissing will.

Randa Lee Hanes
Written in 2003

Copyright ©2010 Randa Lee Hanes

Grandpa

I remember some things about you
Like your face and m&m’s
Your little house and wiener dogs
And other odds and ends.

My heart is full of love for you
I never will forget
I didn’t get to say goodbye
My parents still regret.

Someday I’ll tell my children
How good you were to me
Their great-grandpa Ronnald Hanes
Was the best grandpa he could be.

~This poem is dedicated to my Grandpa Hanes who died when I was 5 years-old.

Randa Lee Hanes
Written in 2004

Copyright ©2010 Randa Lee Hanes