Brought memories of another fireside. Those slippers worn, I've never thrown The Siamese cat, well patted on his side Those glasses old, bowbent and strewn Placed on him in his sweet repose. Those little idiosyncrasies A sign of hypertensity, The foot tap tapping to and fro In yearning quest to know the world And leave the life of solituded. The time has flown, the pain has eased By: Frances Jean Gildersleeve-Beaupre' |
Home | FeaturesME index | Comments |