Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
Tired cry,
As born,
And jollity,
And forsworn,
And misplac'd,
And strumpeted,
And disgrac'd,
And disabled
And authority,
And skill,
And simplicity,
And ill:
Tir'd gone,
Save alone.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Dec. 28, 2007
In the waning years of WW II, we were living in Rockville Center, Long Island, I was about 12 and dad was dying of a brain tumor. Mom said NYC was no place for a widow to bring up a child, so she packed us up and we took a train to her childhood home in Detroit Lakes Minnesota. That's where she met and married this widower. He was a clothing salesman and outdoorsman.
Dec. 27, 2007
Hamburger at Petes Place