How selfless you have expressed yourself, Friendship with you, nearer to GodĬommuning and fellowshipping you taught me, My perfect sister is in my heart to and will always stay. My perfect sister I have until this very day
That I can live and not be scared at all Singing songs that I have never heard before I thought I’ve got people to please rather than myself, It troubled me every time I’m faced with such questions Pressures here and there to be what I’m notĭaily I ask who will love me for who I am?
If you are short of words to explain your sister’s love, these poems can help you do so. Eugene Field Poetry About Sister’s LoveĪ sister’s love is unconditional and is sometimes hard to describe. When she patches little trousers or darns prosaic socks īut I draw the line at one thing–yes, I don my hat and takeĪ three hours’ walk when she is moved to try her hand at cake! I love to work anear her when she’s making over frocks, I have a high opinion of the sisters, as you see–Īnother fellow’s sister is so very dear to me! I’d let her make her wondrous cake, and I would eat it, too! I’d buy her gowns and bonnets, and sing her praise in verse Īnd–yes, what’s more and vastly more–I tell you what I’d do: I’d love her and I’d cherish her for better and for worse– I’d never let her cast her eyes on any chap but me Had I a little sister–oh, how happy I should be!
#Poems on unconditional love full#
I’m wizened and dyspeptic, instead of blithe and gay Ī boy who’s only forty should be full of romp and mirth,īut I (because I’m sisterless) am the oldest man on earth! I never had a sister–may be that is why today Or shift the credit or the blame of that too-treacherous cake!Īnd yet, unhappy is the man who has no Sister Jane–įor he who has no sister seems to me to live in vain. These tactics (artful Sister Jane) enabled her to take Leaving the girl and ma to finish up as best they might So, then, she’d softly steal away, as Arabs in the night, That sister’d think of something else she’d great deal rather do! The chances were as ten to one, before the job was through, It looked so sweet and yellow–sure, to taste it were no sin–īut, oh! how sister scolded if he stuck his finger in! Of grief for mother, hating to see things wasted so,Īnd of fortune for that little boy who pined to taste that dough! Of deep humiliation for the sullen hired-girl Oh, hours of chaos, tumult, heat, vexatious din, and whirl! The click of forks that whipped the eggs to lather white as snow–Īnd what a wealth of sugar melted swiftly out of sight–Īnd butter? Mother said such waste would ruin father, quite!īut Sister Jane preserved a mien no pleading could confoundĪs she utilized the raisins and the citron by the pound. And, oh! the bustling here and there, the flying to and fro