The Touch-me-Nots planted on the west wall of the house.
The black iron skillet that was used three times a day.
The crocheting needle that twisted countless yards of yarn.
The African Violets that sat on every flat surface
The many children that called you and Dad:
Granny and Pa.
Chewing Gum that tasted like the press powder of the compact in your purse
The hardwood floors that were so shiny that it hurt your eyes. (they were also the prefect “sock skating” surface).
The worn pages of your Bible on the end table next to the couch
I remember these things. I remember you, Mom!
