I was cleaning out a drawer today (I saw a show last night on Hourders...scared the bejingers out of me), and I ran across an old poem I wrote right after my father died, some 35 years ago.
As a child, I was as free as a soft and gentle flower,
the sound of laughter was all around.
Now, I'm grown and all confused,
I feel the world with all it's cruelty.
Sometimes when my world turns cold,
I think of those ever so warm days.
Just thought I would share...now back to sorting.
Love and Kisses
The Last Lilac Season
2 years ago