The Fritz Family

Eileen C. Peters' Book of Poems

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This booklet is dedicated to my grandchildren, Cheri, Robby, Tim and Vicki with love and the hope it will be something to remember me by.


P.S. My love also to the great-grandchildren you have given me. Tom, Danny, and Davy Fritz, Evan and Livi Peters, Bobby and Jenny Peters.

I ♥ U too.



How do you like to go up in a swing?
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!


Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside -


Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown -
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down.

Robert Lewis Stevenson   


   This poem was included in one of my first books and it is touched my six-year old heart. I had experienced a swing in a tall tree so I could relate. This poem made me know, even then, that I loved poetry. E.C.P.




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Section 1



God's Sprintime


Unbounded lovliness of God's creativeness
Sings in my breast - -
And all these many years of man's
Cannot suppress.


Through rain the colors glow
and fog is lying low
Along the way.
The hills in beauty rise, and
lift up my eyes
Unto the day.


God's music must be heard, along
such each woodland trial.
Spring is the best.
His earth still glows with life,
and God is reigning still.
My soul finds rest.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: Written on the road from Dundalk to Morgantown. 4-21-1964.




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Sometimes I wonder as I travel
down life's pathway,
At what time I reached the peak
of life's reward.
Or is it waiting, still, around
some corner,
Some challenge still unearthed,
as yet, not heard?
The hours fly by, one day upon
I often ask, where now did they go?
So many things to do and roads
to conquer:
And suddenly I realize, TIME is my foe,
Pictures yet undreamed that call
for painting,
Sculpture yet unformed out of the
the clay.
My mind and hands rebel against
mere drudgery
As I beat against the foe and
race toward that future day.

-Eileen Conley Peters






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O, my God, please let my faith in Thee reflect
Thy love, that would be cause
In time of trouble, meditation, peril or
Just pure joy upon awakening to this new day,
My face toward heaven turn as naturally as turns
the flower toward the sun.


Please let my faith in Thee grow stronger year by year,
As in beginning each new day, I place my hand in Thine
And trustingly trod on the upward road.
Help Thou mine unbelief, for I would change
From this brown clod into a sculpture formed by Thee,
A vessel strong that might to others pour a stream of love.


-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: This is more prose than poetry.




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Brownie was our little pet,
Dared to jump down to the floor,
Our cat, named Percy, came and went - -
Brownie was no more.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: Brownie was a chipmunk. Bill found him hurt and cared for him when he was listless - put him in a cage.

Percy was a beautiful, long-haired cat which I claimed (but my mother fed him, etc.). I dressed him in doll clothes at times. Very gentle, long-suffering cat. I loved him. E.




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These mountains rise in pristine
majesty into the fog
The rain-drenched landscape in
dramatic beauty lies,
This April day as I am going home.
I had forgotten or I did not realize
The lovliness of trees, and hills and skies.
Sienna earth and chartreuse willow trees
Contrast the distant mountain range of blue
We rush along the road 'mid whistling of the wind.
And I muse upon God's blessings as I go --
I know the Master Artist better every Spring
When composition earth reflects his handiwork.
This tiny jeweled lake cloaked in it's olive drab
Is but a perfect foil for God's own palette.
Washed of Sprintime and colored by the thought
That I am going home.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: About 1975. Traveling from Baltimore to Morgantown to visit Pete's parents. E.




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My God


My God is very real to me,
But closer to Him daily I would be.
My sights need raising day by day,
These mortal thoughts to rise
above the clay
To realize that God has stoop
to elevate
This heart, deceitful as it is
and recreate
My life afresh. That I might
change into
The perfect, trusting child that's
born anew
With each glad morn, and grasp His hand,
And lean on Him, and daily learn the lesson
He has for me, that not alone this skin
Be in God's image made, but deep within
The imprint of His likeness to
My life, that only his own image
will remain.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: Dundalk, MD. in 1965 when poem was though of.






I like this feeling leaving town,
When leaves are russet, gold and brown.
The clouds hand cumulus and low,
The wind just spurts and gusts to blow
The leaves and twigs, now high then low.
Small flocks of birds dart here and there.
Seemingly without a care
That winter lurks beyond the hill.
While autumn's glow is with us still,
Her hues and tints a lovely gown.
I like this feeling leaving town.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: 8-11-1976. From Baltimore to Morgantown about 1976.




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Too Soon


The garden all along the wall
Is somewhat like a jungle tall,
The beauty lush, grown seedy.
My chair which once would seek the shade
Now finds a warmer spot. Parade
The leaves in ochre color.
Some leaves in russet color.


As days retreat and sun less bright,
There's less of day and more of night,
And something presses on my contemplation.
Season's end is coming in such hurry.
Clouds across the sky now flit and scurry,
And of summer's bounty I've not had my fill.
Of summer's sun I have not had my fill.

I have not had my fill.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: Written in my backyard at Dundalk. Township Rd. Our first new house. End of a group.




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Those Three


There's three in the yard next door.
Like steps, they are two, three, four.
They are sweet and they're bad and they're good,
As circumstance fashions their mood,
And, yes, how they make the heart sing.


The boys come behind and before,
The middle one I so adore --
Not so much for her wile as her angelic smile,
That covers her deal at the same time while
She tries to arrange them like pawns


And Jesse will let her go just so far,
Then he take Chris by the hand and will bar
Renee from the trucks, the swing and the game
That only boys understand and girls just remain
A decided nuisance and just to ignore.


But the shadow, the baby, the number three,
Is a character tough, amusing and wee.
There is nothing they do that he cannot do,
Tho' sometimes the try and the fall he may rue,
But he will not admit nor concede.


Those three in the yard next door,
let steps, they are two, three, four,
They are quick-they are slow from their naps all a-glow,
And the love and the empathy those three entow,
Will ensnare and enslave me my heart evermore.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: Sept. 4, '68. The Hunt children (kids of Gar and Ann Hunt.

Steve the 4th hadn't yet put in appearance. Sept. 4, '68.

Jesee, Renee, Christ, Stephen hadn't appeared yet. E.




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Stand on a hillside,
Take in the view,
Soak up the sunshine,
Sky is so blue.
Wallow in nature,
Bend with the breeze,
Stare at the forest
Long as I please.
Free is my spirit,
Cares are diffused,
Peace wraps me 'round
Like a cloak worn and used.
Birds float above me,
Insects still drone,
Such satisfaction,
I am at home.
Why, when my being
All this so loves,
Am I stuck in between
These homes built in rows?

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: Living in Dundalk in a group home. 9-15-1968

Nice home, end of group. We liked it. E.




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A Prayer


O, Lord, cure my blindness,
My eyes that do not see.
Still the clamor of my words
And grant me victory.
O, Lord, help me to stand still
And know that thou art God,
To turn my face to Calvary,
Not be part of that mob.


Wash me, cleanse me, make me pure,
Fill me with Thy Spirit.
Cast out my Laodicean mien,
Fire me with Thy merit,
Seeing bruised Gethsemene,
And where Golgotha made its bid,
Seeing the anguish of Thy soul
When the Father's face was hid.


O, Lord, cure my unconcern,
Make so real my empathy,
That I won't drive the nails again,
But sincere be and true to Thee
May I see Thee on Thy throne,
With angels in Thy glory,
Come to sing the victor's song
To end this old world's story.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: 1983




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Snowstorm of '83


I love to view the snowstorm
blow and swirl,
The homes across the way
appear so muted.
The silence! And the ghostly trees a-whirl--
Accumulation sculptured round
or fluted.


The earth that was short days
ago, so drab and brown,
Now in garb mysterious and ethereal
is veiled,
The horizontal snow on windy
wing of down,
Now floats, now blows with majesty regaled.


I love to view the snowscape
deep and white,
So pure, so clean, in purity
From snug coziness of easy
chair I cite
A love of snow through window
pane serene.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: '83. Written in Winchester, VA.




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Creator Of Spring


The green of grass in springtime,
The bloom on the trees as well,
The fragrance of earth and blossoms,
Each have a tale to tell.


To tell of a loving Creator
Who gave us our senses five,
Our eyes that enjoy all this color,
And ears that are sensitive. . .


God surrounds us with living color
Which He wasn't compelled to do,
He gave us these lovely blessings
Because He loves me and you.



Note: May 1984. On our way to Morgantown, W.V. E.




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Word Of Praise

O, Lord, as I dwell on Gethsemen's hour,
How my soul reaches out to Thee there. . .
And I feel the dread darkness, the enemy's
And with Thee there is none can compare.
For You bore all my guilt and the world's sin as well,
And You sweat, as it were, drops of blood,
But through tears and through agony, my
soul from hell
You have purchased by death on the rood.

-Eileen Conley Peters


Note: '84.




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