Mary Harriet Poem by ivor or ivor.e hogg
Mary Harriet
An empty room, an empty chair.
Recall to me the occupant
although she is no longer there.
In my minds eyes I see my aunt.
The family historian.
She knew much more than she would tell.
Knew when to speak when to abstain.
She kept the family secrets well.
I used to love to visit her
and listen to the tales she told
of her young days and how thing were
. In those far distant days of old.
Now she is gone, she was the last
who knew the secrets of the past.
There are so manay things I wish I could have asked my Mother or Father, but somehow at the time they don't seem important. And now......! ! ! ! ! Sad really. I liked this one lots. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
Hi Ivor! A special Aunt, i'm sure she must have shared most of the secrets of the past with you! (10) ! Thad
Ivor: Always a pleasure to see you write, down to earth pen! Sorry to hear about your Aunt Peace Matt
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 9:37:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Hi ivor, What an interesting, fantastic, poem. I can see your Aunt sitting in her chair, whispering secrets to you. Exceptional poetry......glorious read.....