From Poem

I haven't posted in a while. - I haven't needed to. - And I have a hard time making a post to follow Easter.

All the rage lately seems to be the poem anybody can write. Here's my version:

I am from a plastic pen that writes well, from an old blue Toyota Corolla and a pair of well made leather docksider shoes.
I am from a red brick home in the woods, from a brown stone school well into the evening, and meaningful chapel under the mighy mountains of
southern California and a studio apartment full of big sunny southern windows and love.
I am from the unmowed field of grass and wildflowers that wave above our heads as we look at the sky, the rose just perfected hung about with
the morning fog and dew which no-one sees but me - yet.
I am from long trips in the car with the whole country all around and an engineering family with an artistic streak, from Germany, Ireland,
France, Belgium and Scotland, from the hedge and from the mill.
I am from a grandpa who TOLD me about when he was a little girl.
I am from and I am for the Roman Catholic church; and it is from the chosen people of Israel; and they were chosen from before the foundations
of the world were set. From before the worlds foundations were set I was known and I hope to read my name in the book of life - written of the
mind of God.
I am from an elm grove in the land of lakes, from bratwurst and cheese and burger-for-a-bunch. I am from Oolong tea, Taiwan beer, tempura
shrimp with mayonaise and pinapple sauce, and also from chicken knuckles, palate-poking krill and stinking tofu.
I am from wheat-bread sandwiches wrapped in wax paper in my brown bag lunch and dry milk because it was cheaper. Yet I am from down-hill skiing
since before I can remember and from golf with dad, and grandparents and friends.
I am from a grandpa who sold insurance but read the Harvard Classics. And from another who with half a thumb became a doctor and the best of
men and beat alzheimers - I hope I never forget where I am from.