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'