Charlie says my mom was green,
but I think she was orange.
-The orange of the "Princess Chair"
and orange marigolds,
-The kitchen walls,
-The patterned floor,
-The fruit on Christmas morn
-The sweater that she knitted me
and now by Ira worn…
-The cedar walls,
-The cupboard doors…
All had an orange glow,
-The firelight
and kitchen floor
-The curtains by the patio door…
And photos hugging Leo
-The fresh raked leaves,
built into homes,
and rows of fresh canned peaches,
-The orange glass-balled grapey thing
-The rag rug on the floor,
-The butterflies on blue quilt sewn
And more and more and more…
Maybe mom was in her summer
when she was raising you,
and maybe, because I’m younger than you…
I knew mom in autumn.
With all that said…
This truth I know--
Green and Orange
compliment each other.
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Edwin
hugs
Kathy lynn
There is so much beauty and honesty in your words,that made
it a splendid poem!
Love,
Eileen
take care,
William
Georg
However, consider the color of her lazy-boy chair, the living room carpet, her favorite color, her birthstone, her LIVING soul, the vegetables she loved to cook with, the color of that nasty fridge (perhaps you're too young, you lucky child)...
But I hear ya...all of that tempered with quiet, waiting wisdom--a mellow soul, and a golden jewel of a parent.
I guess we're both right (write) after all. --Charlie
Mary
Love,
Linda Settles
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.