Meade

I remember you playing,
As a little boy.
Reaching for love,
As you held to a toy.

Your head was bald,
You looked with a scare.
Your mother had gone,
And you needed some care.

I took you over,
As a young girl could.
And did for you,
Like a second-hand should.

Life was so hard,
For me and for you.
But with food on the table,
Your little body grew.

And made you a man,
With a will that was strong.
You have been a joy,
And to us you belong.


E.P. 1908 - 1989