Sunday, January 23, 2011

A Poem About My Mom (I wrote this)

Who is it that is caught red handed licking the hot fudge sauce out of a jar?
Who is it that races merrily down thar hills in an itty bitty golf cart car?
Who is it that can't find her glasses which sit right upon her nose?
Who is it I wonder...But then do you suppose?
It might be someone funny and wise  and full of Irish Blarney besides.
Who is it that enjoys a summer art fair and that has such a carefree smile that clearly displays her mood?
Who is it  that smells of linseed oil and turp and Ahh but paints so well a model in the nude?
Who is it I wonder...but then do you suppose?
It might be someone that I know who only lives from here a stone's throw.
Marianne Brady

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