I watched Mom, after the fire, crying, crying
The fire had destroyed our old Victorian home
A house that held treasures and many memories
I still see the old attic, where I played with dolls
...
I write about life, of happiness and sadness, of death, of memories long past, of nature and art. I write the poem, the story, I paint a picture with words)
Kiss, Kiss
kiss
my lips
my darling
my scarlet lips
kiss