Tied In A Handkerchief Poem by Paul Warren

Bright crisp mornings on a winter day
A radio on at breakfast for tunes to play
Milk stirred in a saucepan warm
And a cup of tea from a pot drawn

My father's rich baritone voice singing
As he washed in shower steam bringing
Lining up for the ritual of the combing hair
Waiting shiny face in my mother's care

Bus money tied in my handkerchief
Tightly held from an imaginary thief
To the bus stop now with brothers tight
Straight to school then straight home as a right

These things pressed hard into my soul
Not forgotten in my life's role
Oh for those happy times again
A childhood with no thought to end.

© Paul Warren Poetry