Sharpwriters' Thoughts Blog Archives - Archives - July 2001 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 June 2007 August 2007 September 2007 December 2007 March 2008 May 2008 July 2008 August 2008 April 2009 September 2009 October 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 June 2010 Current Posts Wednesday, August 10, 2005 Growing Kids Growing Veggies I received a delightful gift yesterday delivered by three youth from the local Post-Adjudication Unit. These kids, on probation for offenses, are in a residential facility I help run with the other local judges. They had grown vegetables and written a poem which they presented to me. Their poem reads: Honorable Judge Rollins We tilled, hoed, raked, and dropped the seeds. We knelt down for hours, just to pull the neverending weeds. Our hands were raw and blistered As we continuously dug. We scratched to fight off all the bugs. We sang, talked, and caressed all of our plants we even got out there and did a little rain dance. For all the time we spent underneath the sky thats blue Here's a little sample of the things that we grew.       From the Kids in Post Aug. "2005" My response to them was also in verse: For the Kids in Post, August, 2005 From Judge Rollins If a seed falls to ground where it lands, left to chance, then a plant might be found, then a bloom could advance. Chances are it will not, most such seeds never root. Without care, sad’s the lot of the could-have-been shoot. Plant a seed, watch it grow, pull the weeds, give it room. Quench its thirst nice and slow so one day it may bloom. Like a seed, so a child needs a hand’s tender care. Left to chance, to grow wild, life may seem tough to bear. If it hurts when the weeds are pulled up, twigs are pruned, know we care for your needs, that your lives be well tuned. Thanks for your kind and thoughtful gift! Share | posted by Barbara Rollins @ 2:50 PM 0 Comments: Post a Comment Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] << Home