HAPPY NEW YEAR! And may it be a truly great one for you -- healthy, prosperous and safe. Today, I have some verse written by Lora L. Beck, who resides along W.Va. Route 23 in Doddridge County. Her poem is titled, "Giving From the Heart." Admittedly, this would have perhaps been more timely before Christmas, but as I mentioned before, I ran out of time and space to use all the holiday submissions I received.

So here it is -- "Giving From the Heart":

The silvery glow of the night

Once again beckons me to arise.

To arise from my warm slumber, in vain, I resist

The glow grows stronger and seems to persist.

After struggling to my faithful chair

Which at my bedside receives me with care ...

I wheel my way out into the stillness of my home

Where, not so much earlier, my children did roam.

The cold winter encasement of the country, outside, and so alone ...

Seems to penetrate through the walls and all the way to my bones.

Within this shell of a room I sit and wait patiently,

To hear what is so desperately bade of me.

I wait for the answers to come, that must be dear,

Of why I must still linger here.

I moved closer to the window,

Where I could feel the moon's glow.

To a deafening tone the countryside slept,

Unanxious to reveal the secrets it's kept.

What is it you wish of me? I did pray,

The answer came, but to my dismay ...

For what I did perceive,

I unknowingly, before, would not receive.

Although the message did unfold ...

To take to heart, I would need to be bold.

Our ancestors through the cold countryside long ago...

Did struggle and lose the strength of their legs, to the depth of the snow.

They huddled their children together and hoped they'd have warmth,

And for pillows, they laid their heads on the damp, solid earth.

Their dreams weren't of a sport or shopping malls,

Their dreams were of a sort such as a sturdy roof and some walls.

For entertainment, they didn't sit in front of a box,

Instead, they told stories with puppets made from socks.

They weren't concerned of a car too unsightly to suit,

They just concerned themselves instead with a clear wagon route.

A microwave wasn't the thing that was used to cook food till good ...

Side by side for hours they worked, chopped and gathered dry wood.

If they wished to speak to a neighbor or friend,

They would make a long journey and greet them with bread.

The families of our ancestors experienced a life you say you'd rather not ...

But many wonderful things they shared, that we ought.

They shared struggles through sickness, with only a prayer for their physician,

And what clothes to wear come morn wasn't a big decision.

Our ancestors loved one another in a way we cannot fathom,

For they lived not knowing if the grave, that day, would have them.

Many who have long ago passed on and to another realm they may abide,

Yet deep within us, if searching closely, you'll see, they still do hide.

If only we who are pampered with the comforts of this day,

Could realize that our ancestors lived so that we may ...

So let us remember to give this season, in a way that will give their lives a reason.

For those whose eyes, hair or laugh, our DNA does carefully preserve.

Let's give gifts of honor, respect and love ...

For this they truly deserve.

Editor Bob Stealey can be reached by phone at (304) 626-1438, or by e-mail at rstealey@exponent-telegram.com.