Cherry Pink & Apple Blossom White... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Cherry Pink & Apple Blossom White...



There was a clock that sat
on a wood sewing table,
in the foyer of our home
so many years ago.
I can see it, feel and
almost hear that sweet clock
from when I was just seven years old.
My Mom received the clock as a gift
from a friend at at her bridal shower,
in May, of nineteen of forty-eight,
when Goodman and Miller
were ''The Cat's Pajamas''-
of Big Band, ballroom, and
music box clocks.

And this clock had magic within it,
as it played this honey sweet tune,
and when I'd come home from school everyday,
my fingers would sense the urge and itch
to reach out and pick up
that sleek, polished clock,
burgundy and trimmed
in pipings of gold.

And I'd turn 'round its face
to the tiniest of keys,
turned it twenty-five times
that it took to play through
from beginning to end.
And always to the right,
Mom would remind me;

then she'd say...
not too tight, just twenty-five spins;
and of course I'd oblige,
for if I'd overwound the magic
and straine the chord that played-
my ears would no longer
be tickled to the chords
to the sweet melodic sound
of ''Cherry Pink-
and Apple Blossom White''.



Dedicated to my Mother
Gloria Ryan who turns 95
On her next Birthday...

©Frank James Ryan, Jr./ FjR
MMXVIII-All Rights Reserved
Frank James Ryan Jr

Saturday, July 4, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: childhood ,memories,music
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Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

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