Sunday, December 5, 2010

August 12, 1927- January 5, 2008

Her eyes are blue, they turn to shades of green

She makes a wish, and the dandelions dance

Her mother's whispers tuck her in to dream

The boy behind her desk pulls at her hair

Which after years he runs his fingers through

She wears his letter jacket, then his pin

They say their vows, he leaves for Normandy

Her son is born with his brown eyes and curls

She buys a dog who breaks her potted plants

Her once smooth forehead now has lines of age

She forgets dates, friends' names, and how to drive

She doesn't know her son or his three kids

But Paul is there, inside her pre-war mind

Running his fingers through her hair.

By. Rebecca Houston

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