"Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me!
This poem, by Leigh Hunt, was referred to in a book I read last week. I remember it as being one I learned in grade school.
Also from my childhood is the memory of another Jennie. She was a neighbor, slightly older than my paternal grandmother, but similar to her in mannerisms. I got to know her best from her role as Superintendent of Vacation Bible School each summer. She was the kindest, nicest, wisest woman. When we picked the pink June roses off the bush south of our house to take to Bible School, I always tried to give my bouquet directly into her hands.
Her youngest daughter, Ruth, who will be 95 in November, reminds me so much of her Mom. I only see her once in a great while, but every time I do, she tells me how much her mother thought of me and I tell her how much I adored her Mom.
Jennie was short for Genevieve, but she was always Jennie. Whether she ever kissed me or not I can't say, but I know she hugged me. And she left such a good impression upon me that I always think of her and see her in my mind when I hear the name, Jennie.