USA

Forget Me Not

Aging has made me a prisoner
and robbed me of my agility.
My mind still youthful,
ready for any opportunity.
Yet, my limbs forsake me,
taking comfort in an easy chair.
The lines and wrinkles of my face,
map out my journey, my passage thru time.
My stride that of a tortoise,
while running a marathon in my heart.
Allay not my fears of dying,
but rather my sadness at being ignored.
Show me not sympathy,
but rather embrace what I have to offer.
Share my knowledge of the past,
bridging the gap between us.
And always remember,
"The best is yet to be."

Red's Ice House

Down at Red’s ice house it is like time stood still, the old cracked and weathered concrete floors
expose the traffic of the past six decades.
Down at Red’s ice house the tin siding reminds one of summer and quaint homes to escape the hustle and bustle of city life.
Down at Red’s ice house the draft is flowing and tastes so cool you imagine the blocks of ice waiting
for the fisherman and their catch of shrimp and fish at the end of the day.
Down at Red’s ice house everyone is your friend and names and occupations aren’t important,
just calling cards taking up room in your billfold.
Down at Red’s ice house on Shem Creek, you can still sit and watch amazing sun sets.
Down at Red’s ice house hospitality is alive and well, beckoning your return time and time again.
Down at Red’s ice house old and young enjoy one another and share stories of their past and hopes for their future.
Down at Red’s ice house the shrimp come in eight or more different specialties and the steamed oysters
are waiting on you to enjoy.
Down at Red’s ice house they use their best linen everyday, it just happens to be brown paper.
Down at Red’s ice house, you can still see magnificent old sailing vessel made of wood and painted burgundy and white.
Down at Red’s ice house everyone wants to know who is Red?
I laugh and say me...

 

© All Copyright, Betty Ann Duffey.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.