|General Poetry posted March 16, 2009|
Most things are a matter of perspective
"Whose hands have left their imprint here?"
"Not mine," The youngest said.
"Nor mine," said little Rosa Lee,
Who hurried off to bed.
"Who broke this glass?" my question came.
"I do not know," one cried.
"Nor I, for I was fast asleep,"
My little Rosa lied.
"Then surely one of you must know
Who took my stocking cap."
"Not I." "Nor me," said Rosa Lee,
And climbed into my lap.
"I think some naughty little girl,"
My Rosa sweetly said,
"Has done these things of which you speak,"
And tossed her pretty head.
Today, I lost my Rosa Lee,
And no blame can be placed;
My youngest cried as well as I
As she was laid to rest.
Her prints she left upon my soul,
And broken is my heart;
She stole from me her own small self
The day we had to part.
If she were here with me again,
Her faults I could ignore;
I'd let her color all the walls
And spill things on the floor.
And when she'd ask, "Who did those things?"
With her most charming smile.
I would say, "Not my Rosa Lee,"
And hug my precious child.
A very proper little girl does some very improper things.Pays one point and 2 member cents.
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