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)



Watch these pages for other poems by Norma.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.



The Purple Dark Of Night

The Mad March Hare

Empty Basket

Footsteps On My Roof

Fond Memories

Snowfall At Nightfall

The Barehanded Fishergirl

Bird Behind A Bush

A New Love

Love Stories
Things I Enjoy

Conversation Over Morning Coffee

A new feature at Lara's Den is free E-cards. I make them and offer them to our visitors and authors. Click the button to access the index.

And.......for many others, click the index image.

Graphics by Marilyn