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THE POEMS OF ROBERT N. CRONK
Robert N. Cronk was somewhat of a poet, having composed a tribute to his wife, Inez, titled "AN ODE TO MY WIFE". He also composed a poem to place in the two Family Tree books he wrote It was titled "MY ROOTS". In addition, he wrote the poem "MY MOTHER". A slight modification to the "MY ROOTS" poem was necessary because of the reference to his Scottish ancestry in the first book (mother's family). So the last line was changed for his second book (father's family) to eliminate this reference.
After completing the tribute to his wife, he presented it to her at the dinner table. So moved by the sentiment expressed, she broke into tears. Before twenty-four more hours had passed, she had mounted the poem in a picture frame and hung it on the living room wall, where it still hangs today.
When Robert was just twelve years old, his beloved mother died. So devastated by this event, Robert wrote a poem about his mother that he remembers to this day. Although some of the details were actually ficticious, the main intent of the poem was real. (His mother's ancestors actually came from Scotland.)
These poems are shown here in this website, so that you, too, may enjoy them.
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AN ODE TO MY WIFE
By Robert N. Cronk
I have SEEN with my own eyes,
The wondrous things you are,
And how your love is oft expressed,
Even from afar.
Your TOUCH is like a breath of spring,
Warm and gentle to my hand,
The feeling of God's greatest gift,
Is your effect on man.
I TASTE your loveliness every day,
And wonder if it is true,
How can one person be so good,
To be as good as you.
I SMELL your nearness in every way,
The sweetness of your being,
Like bouquets of beautiful flowers,
That enhance touching and seeing.
The SOUNDS that come from you alone,
Cause me to hear no other,
I am proud to call you mine,
My wife, my friend, my lover.
No need for me to tell you now,
That my SENSES are all askew,
I blame it all on your thoughts,
So unselfish, so pure, so true.
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Although the last line was modified in the second version, the
poem (MY ROOTS) which was placed in the two Family Tree books is also presented here.
MY ROOTS
By Robert N. Cronk
An acorn from an oak, grows into an oak,
A lamb from a sheep, grows into a sheep,
A person from a Saint, becomes a Saint,
But what am I to be?
I'll be as strong as that old oak,
And meek, just like that sheep,
I'll be good, yes, Saintly good,
Look at my FAMILY TREE.
My ROOTS are healthy, firm, and strong,
Ancestors, silently guiding me,
Urging me to do no wrong,
For they are me, and I am ye.
For the second Family Tree book, the last line of the poem (MY ROOTS)was changed to read:
And I shall, as you will see.
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The following poem, written by Robert, was instigated by the death of his mother when she was just 39 years old. Robert was age 12 when his mother died.
MY MOTHER
By : Robert N. Cronk
My mother came from Ireland,
A long, long time ago,
She told me of the places there,
That used to thrill her so.
She told me of Killarney,
And of Old Erin Square,
She told me of the friends she made,
But had to leave them there.
We used to play together,
When I was just a lad,
My mother was the best friend,
Any boy ever had.
She cared for me when I was sick,
She worried when I was late,
She spanked me when I was bad,
Then laughed when tears abate.
She started feeling very ill,
About two years ago,
She just kept on growing weaker,
For her strength was ebbing so.
She fought with all within her,
But it was a losing fight.
Cancer won another time,
My mother died tonight.
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Here is a fun poem written by Robert just recently. He was trying to show the progression in age and the feelings involved with those progressions.
GROWING OLD
By Robert N. Cronk
Here I am,
A boy of five,
What a great time,
To be alive.
And now I'm ten,
It took so long,
But things look good,
And life's a song.
I'm sixteen today,
Now I can drive,
I'll cut the grass,
Just as a bribe.
When I am twenty,
I'll be out of school,
Then I'll get a job,
I think that would be cool.
I'm twenty-five now,
And I am a man,
My boyhood life,
Has just hit the fan.
Fifty years now have passed,
I'm beginning to feel so old,
It's the prime time of my life,
Or so I have been told.
The wrinkles in my face,
Are all that I'll derive,
I guess that's what happens,
When you turn seventy-five.
Now that I am eighty,
Time is passing fast,
I wonder how much longer,
These old bones will last.
When the time comes,
I will not be petty,
I'll praise the Lord,
And tell Him I am ready.
So make room, Jesus,
I am coming soon,
And please, dear Jesus,
Please, please have the room.
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