Sunday, August 17, 2014

It All Would Be Forgotten Then

These I would have for company
The while I sit and rock,
A window facing down the street,
The ticking of the clock.

The humming of the kettle,
The purring of the cat,
And every afternoon I'd take
A cozy little nap.

Oh I would be so very old
And satisfied and wise,
Forgetful of a merry lad
With cruel grey eyes.

I'd knit a little, think a little
 And listen not at all
To hear a cruel gay voice.
Or the knocker fall.

Nor caring not a whit about
The time he went away,
And all because of three words
We couldn't either say.

It all would be forgotten then,
As ancient roses glow,
Of some half sad old fashioned tune,
Sung years and years ago:


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