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When I think of red,
I think of my mother,
She loved the color red,
More than any other.
She left us red glass vases,
Red glass tureen and such,
She was mostly quiet outside,
Wild red inside showed this touch.
Made batches of paper mache
And plastered her kitchen walls.
Dad never knew what he'd find
When he left his business halls.
The kitchen painted paper bright red,
Or red pillows on the couch,
Red is a color that screams at me,
But of course that was her house.
© By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)
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