Saturday, August 30, 2014


Her mind is a library where Dickens, Scott,
And the Harvard Classics lie dusty, forgot;
But where certain small books may always be had
Strange-tilted volumes that make her heart glad:
Must fix Jim's shirt
Buy Helen's skirt
Shoes for Dad. . .

Her heart is a music room where Shubert's, Lack's,
And Beethoven's works lie in cobwebby stacks;
But where songs well-dusted are always near;
Funny little songs whose names are so queer:
Little Helen's "whys"
Jim's twinkly eyes
Dad, my dear. . .

Her fingers are a game room where now unused
Lie tennis balls, whist cards, the old organ, bruised;
But where never a thought is given to those
Because she's a wonder at new games she knows:
Favorite desserts
Ironing shirts
Mending clothes

Her eyes are an observatory where Mercury,
Mars, Venus, Neptune are too distant to see;
But where certain bright stars make all others dim
Her oddly named planets that make her eyes brim:
Jim. ..


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