by Terry L. White
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Rated "G" by the Author.
Print Save Become a Fan
An old lady remembers her youth.
Little old lady sitting, sorting out the past
A lifetime of memories gathered,
seen dimly through a glass.
“My number one was a sailor,
The next, he died in the War.
My daughter married beneath her,
She never comes home any more.
Oh! Wait! Here’s a picture of me
And my man when we wed
I member the love we shared then.”
Her wrinkled old face went red.
“Well, I won’t say I’m old, but I’m eighty this year.”
(With a lace-trimmed hanky she blotted a tear.)
Then she walked me to the doorway
Chattering all the while,
lingering just to ask me
To come back for a visit one day.
Little old lady sitting,
Sorting through the past,
Putting it all in perspective
Seeing all clearly at last.