January, 10, 1995


     " My Father who loves to love me "

   For my father who's special to me.
   Who's smile is as warm as a blue flame.
   And crystal brown eyes, 
   hide beneath brown framed glasses.
   Who minded least of all when I made a mistake.
   And would brighten my day when it was gloomy.
   Whose songs of melody sounded like a dream.
   And to my father who loves to love me.

By: Brittany Madore

October 11, 1997


 " I ALWAYS LOVED BEING YOUR DAD "


   I just didn't know till you were born
   how it would feel to father a child.
   The moment you entered this life
   I knew without a doubt 
   "I loved being your dad".

   Reading you books before you went to bed
   was so very special-seeing your little mind 
   absorb all the mysterious wonders of life.
   There was no doubt
   "I always loved being your dad".

   As you grew you sparkled in your life.
   I was always proud without a doubt to say 
   that's my daughter and 
   "I love being her dad".

   Your handmade Christmas and Birthday cards,
   just had to be-
   no store bought card could express
   the depth of your Love and Caring.

   You were wild,
   you were sweet,
   you were loving,
   you were so caring,
   you were not afraid
   to let your opinion be known.
   You were genuine and beautiful.
   "I always loved being your dad".

   Tragedy has struck so uninvited.
   Who could have imagined 
   you would be taken from us so abruptly.
   It's not fair,
   it's not fair.
   I cry, but, Honey I realize you have 
   only left this earth and I know
   your beautiful spirit is soaring above us,
   sprinkling love in our hearts.

   I will always love you honey, and 
   "I will always love being your dad".

By: Steve Madore

I wonder if the woman on the moon
Is offended that people
think she's a man...By: Brittany Madore

To: Brittany From: Lisa and Julio

Who knows if the moon's
a balloon, coming out of a
keen city
in the sky-filled with pretty
people?
(and if you and I should
get into it, if they
should take me and take
you into their balloon,
 why then
we'd go up higher with all
the pretty people 
than houses and steeples and clouds
go sailing away and away sailing
into a keen city which
nobody's ever visited, where
always it's Spring) and everyone's 
in love and flowers pick 
themselves.
By: E. E. Cummings
To Brittany, Love Julie
Time is like a handful of sand,
the tighter you grasp it,
the faster it runs
through your fingers.
But if you caress it all, 
it will leave in its wake
a gentle flow of memories.