O, twas in the month of March
When the sands began to parch,
And the dainty evening primrose commenced to bloom;
I sashayed out to take a hike
With some citizens- elders like
Who would hope to meet their destiny,
Not their doom.
Now their souls were all aghast,
When the zephyrs began to blast
And the dust initiated havoc from the dunes;
But they maintained a steady gaze
Though their brains were in a haze,
And their faces reminded one of sub-sea level prunes.
When they climbed unworldly crests
With gamey legs and heaving breasts,
It struck me that there was not a trace of gloom;
But they all survived with mirth
Yielding fame and glee and worth,
As they weaved
Harold L. Overton
In the month of March 2001, I drove over to Beatty,
Before I could get one, she scheduled an evening at the local Department of Energy office, where we were to be enlightened by the local earth scientists about nuclear waste to be stored in the nearby
When the geologist had finished, he asked for questions, and as none seemed forthcoming, I held up my hand. I asked four and was starting on the fifth, when suddenly Marvey’s face loomed in front of me and she hissed “you’re taking up too much of the class’s time. I demurred, and there being no more questions, we went back to the motel. The next morning at breakfast, Marvey must have felt contrite, since she sat with me while I was eating breakfast alone. She made some polite conversation, and in passing asking what I thought about the tone of the program. I told her that I enjoyed it and that I would have a skit which I would present to the next Elderhostel for entertainment. This would enlighten some accumulation of stories which always occurred near the end of each Elderhostel. Of course she wanted to hear the story.
“Scientist X sat near the rear of the theatre where he could hear the details of the DOE presentation , giving details about Storage of Nuclear Waste in
Marvey seemed somehow tired and dreary, after this monologue, and I later realized that I was a bit harsh. I resolved to make it up to her, somehow; and I realized that acquiring the coveted water-coloring was now beyond my reach. I had done this as easily as falling off a dialog. I must immediately extend the olive branch of Poetry to her. I would compose a heart-felt rendition of gratitude to her before leaving the Elderhostel.
The next day, the group gathered in front of the motel waiting for the vans which would carry us to the last of the activities. Someone asked why we didn’t have a Thursday night program of Senior fun and skits, and I offered to give them my going-away rendition. Just as I commenced reading the above opening poem, Marvey marched up- just in time to hear it. There was wild acclaim for Marvey, and she thanked me with a twinkle in her eye- I was forgiven.
(I could have said that we gave her a standing ovation, but we were already standing- we would have had to give her a sitting ovation, by sitting). H.L. Overton