Cousins Turning Eighty

 

Another rhyming poem

Memory lane has a way of putting me in the doggerel verse mood. Why? Well, why should we care/ if it seems fun and fair?  Actually, the idea for this was suggested by cousin Johnny Gehman (top right).  We four Groff cousins born in 1944 don't look much different from this 2006 photo, do we?  Johnny's wife, Norma, passed away last year.  The last time we met with her she said to me that she hopes I get to writing again. So I dedicate it to her.

The Groff Cousins Four Turn Eighty

Dedicated to Norma Groff Gehman (1944-2022)

by Glenn Lehman in the style of Dr. Seuss

Calling all Groffs, the strong and the frail,

Whether in Groffland, in Grofftown or Groffdale.

Pause, if you please, for this news very weighty:

The Groff Cousins Four are about to turn eighty.

This calls for a party on the old Kinzers farm.

Put down your pitch fork, come in from the barn, 

Whatever your chores, wherever you live,

It’s good news, not bad, that we now want to give.

These wonderful cousins, these valiant four–

Before Father Time can come lock the door–

Want us to look back for some mem'ries to share,

To honor the past and all families who care.

Yes, the four have been faithful for many a year,

Oh, they’ve climbed many-a mountain, shed many-a tear.

For twenty-nine thousand two hundred days, let me say it concisely,

They’ve followed God’s ways, if not precisely, at least very nicely.

No, nothing to fear, we just want to give praise

To these birthday cousins, the four from nineteen forty-four--

John, Lois, and Harold, and Glenn–let them rest—

This quartet of four have now passed life’s big test.

At the top of your voice, raise a cheer, give a shout

We are friends and we’re cousins we can let feelings out.

So friends, raise your voice, let’s be noisy almost.

Let them know that you notice and then raise a toast.

They’re eighty, you say, 

That cannot be right

They cannot be eighty,

With no wheel chair in sight.

Ah, you are a doubter, just let me be clear

I’ve added up decades, and counted each year,

I started way back when the world was at war,

Way, way back in time to nineteen forty-four.

Elva, Miriam, and Elsie and Clarence, back in the day,

Already had children who’d giggle and play.

So much they loved family that those Groffs wanted more,

Wouldn’t you know it, the year Grandma died, they went and had four.

Sweet babies, those four! They charmed uncles and aunts,

What smoochie fat arms, what nice underpants,.

Those babies were cutsies, woochie-tootsies and more,

But not many pictures.because of the war.

The babies were healthy, at six learned to read..

Each Sunday was church; chores meant chickens to feed.

In Grandpa’s brick house, we all would rejoin.

At Christmas each grandchild got a silver half-dollar coin.

We’d walk to Kinzer church, he might puff a cigar,

He’d show his hearing aid, and an old phone–both quite bizarre.

He’d start up his Ford, drive us around, show us his bank.

Speed east on Route 30 and go fill up the tank.

He was a good father-in-law; his seven daughters gave him joy!

Uncle John, Grandma Brackbill, memories time could not destroy.

The Grahams, the Martins, the Groffs and the Gehmans,

All passed through that house, yes, the Hesses and Lehmans.

The birthdays kept coming, the calendar never lied,

At sixteen we drive–the year Grandpa died.

The four cousins stood ‘round his grave that sad day.

The whole family gathered In the graveyard to pray.

We held hands and we cried in the Hershey graveyard that day

The day that he died and was taken away.

He lies in the ground, in the ground shall he stay,

Beside his fair bride, till the great judgment day.

Behold, now how silent where children once played,

Where parents kept vigil and solemnly prayed,

The stories! The laughter! Now silent forever.

But God’s love that binds us, no, nothing can sever.

So Lehman and Gehman let’s now sing a song

And tell Martin and Groff to sing right along.

And praise the good Lord with a four-part Hallelujah!

There’s nobody here that will spoil it or boo ya.

We had tough decisions, sometimes suffered loss,

Never mind colds and measles, chicken pox, and whooping cough.

This family has genes, it’s not run-of-the-mill.

The family has destiny–it’s Groff and Brackbill!.

So Johnny, start up that enormous hammermill,

And Harold crank the John Deere, the Groff lands to till,

And Glenn play your music, go on, write a song,

And Lois, run that mental health clinic to keep the people strong.

So, Groffs, our dear cousins, let pride our hearts swell,

Honor father and mother, live worthy, love well,

And thrive e’er our glory and strivings shall cease

When we all get to heaven and rest in God’s peace.

February, 2024