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Age creeps up on me--then--

At time shouts!

--Telling me that I am fifty-seven

And to stop pretending I am thirty-three

--Telling me that I am not a jeune fille

--Telling me to put on my shawl

And start knitting.

Dutifully, I put on the shawl--

Then I dance around the living room

To wild music







Hapiness Obscured

Clouds move in---

That sunshine will not dissipate

Nor the winds of good fortune eliminate

Nor laughter end

Only love and sharing

Can make lonely clouds











she was at best, an inadequate Mother:
often spiteful, often cruel
Never loving and giving.

Then she died.
I often miss her.
In stores I find gifts to give her for Xmas.
Today is Thanksgiving; I think
--I should call her

My mother was a challenge and I miss her.
A difficult mother is better than none.



















All poems © Nancy I Buck 2004