In memory of Osie Ola Hertzler Ziegler
1918-2017
Osie and Ralph
This evening as I was thinking about Aunt Osie, I pulled out her book of poetry (Homespun Verse: A Mother’s Medley) and entered her world of life….
Just Wishing
I’d like to be a buzzard bird
Away up in the sky,
I’d hop upon the strongest wind
and go so very high.
The earth would be an Esso map,
The roads would ribbons be,
And fields look just like patchwork quilts
As far as I could see.
I’d find another bird and have
A grand old pillow fight
With little clouds the wind blew by,
all soft and fluffy white.
I’d dip and soar an hour or more,
As happy as could be,
And then at night I’d perch upon
The very tallest tree.
I suspect she is now flying higher, faster and grander than any buzzard ever dreamed of flying! I think I would think of a prettier bird I’d want to be but buzzards do know how to soar and glide. But that was Aunt Osie, she somehow managed to see the beauty in the sometimes not so lovely.
This is My Task
God did not choose to send me across the sea
To spread the gospel story of Calvary.
But placed instead in my arms for loving care
Some of his little lambs, tender and fair.
Then bid me take these small ones and day by day
Love, them, guide them aright, teach them to pray.
This, then, is the work He has given.
This is my task.
This is my whole life’s endeavor, nor would I ask
any greater. I only pray wisdom to guide
These tender lambs one by one to the Shepherd’s side.
Gypsy Flair
Some day I’m going to break loose
From the chains of daily grind
And capture every fancy
Of my restless Gypsy mind.
I’ll follow little side roads
That peek out along the way
That beckon with crook’d finger
And tangled flowers gay.
I’ll climb them to the highest hill
And scan the scene below
Where neat farms lie with field and fence
Like patchwork quilts in row,
Or woodlands flaunt their colors
Against the distant hill.
I’ll stay and watch the setting sun
And let its colors thrill
My heart, or else perchance I’ll take
A road that’s going down
Where woods are deep and silent,
and all I hear’s the sound
of little brooklets tossing
Their laughter back at me
As they twist and turn among the fern
In bubbling gaiety.
I’ll pass by cozy cottages
Where little children play,
And pause beside a field that’s steeped
In scent of new mown hay.
I’ll find myself a quiet place
Beneath a shading tree,
With only ants and spiders
To keep me company.
I’ll pillow down on soft new grass
And here I’ll take my ease,
Where nature’s air conditioned
By a whisper of a breeze.
Then I’ll come back where taut-faced friends
Still hurry in their way,
Richer far for having been
a gypsy for a day.
Thank you Aunt Osie for a life well lived. I loved to stop in for a chat and your words of cheer always encouraged me. I knew several weeks ago when I stopped in that your time on earth was drawing to a close. As you laid curled in your bed, you were still wanting to work in your flower beds. You are now home… truly home with your Savior, husband and many other loved ones. Gypsy lady, your chains are gone and you are now free to climb the highest hill, find that quiet place and enjoy the most beautiful gardens imaginable.
Twins: Oliver (Gene’s dad) and Osie (on the right)- 1919
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I would like to suggest you leave a comment or memory of Osie and/or Ralph. It would such a blessing for the family to read. The comment link is at the top of the page, just under the title.
