Oh the sun never sets on the British empire. While it's elite get rich off of the backs of it's subjects. The bureaucrats craft their ideologies and implement their plans. All boxes are checked and everything is grand. Wait a moment a hick cup as occurred, a baby name Charlie Gard a name you might not have heard. The bureaucracy says that we shall just let him die, while mum and dad sit by and can only cry. The horror of the bureaucrats to take our child from us. The stress has become awful, it is just too much. Despite the attention that has come from abroad. The American President, even the Pope has gotten involved, but no there can be no help, no where or why. The socialist wankers of the European state say the baby has to die.

Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,
"Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.

       Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Oh welcome guest, though unexpected, here!
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long,
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly, as the precept were her own;
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief--
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she.

       My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss--
Ah that maternal smile! it answers--Yes.
I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such?--It was.--Where thou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens griev'd themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of a quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd;
By disappointment every day beguil'd,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot.

       Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,
Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor;
And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt,
'Tis now become a history little known,
That once we call'd the past'ral house our own.
Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair
That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm that has effac'd
A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd;
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and brakes
That humour interpos'd too often makes;
All this still legible in mem'ry's page,
And still to be so, to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorn'd in heav'n, though little notic'd here.

       Could time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flow'rs,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I *****'d them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head and smile)
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart--the dear delight
Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.--
But no--what here we call our life is such,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That . I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

       Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd)
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore
"Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,"
And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide
Of life, long since, has anchor'd at thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd--
Me howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd,
Sails ript, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course.
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From ***** enthron'd, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise--
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell--time, unrevok'd, has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine:
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic shew of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft--
Thyself remov'd, thy power to sooth me left.

I'm sick of sad teenage girls
crying out
"I've been used"
"I've been had"
"He lied"
"I was never loved"

Fear not sad teenage girls
it is clear what happened
the castle you keep your heart in was stormed
and
that tiny little princess that knew no evil
lowered her drawbridge

So, may I say?
Let it go
Mistakes will be made
That little princess can still grow
because she now knows
some are evil
dastardly
deceptive
all for the lowering of that drawbridge

Gard that castle well sad teenage girl
and never again will you know the selfish deeds
of some "Prince Charming" mounted on a less than noble steed

the sad will fade and trust can be fostered
just make sure he isn't an imposter
accept the past
because life is more than your love last
move onward
smile
Or, he might pass by
as if he were just another guy

So I say to you sad teenage girls
This too shall pass

in the meantime,
take your
melodramatic
self-absorbed
excuses
and toss them away
move onward to bigger and better things
because you are beautiful
strong and empowered

move on teenage girl
concern yourself with life
so later
if you choose to be a wife
she will not have to feel
like that sad teenage girl
lowering her drawbridge

Analog, anabasis… trip, short, burn the bug to carbon dust…

Seeking in my treasury of books, pared down to ones with personal attachments,
- I sought a Welsh-English pocket dictionary, gifted me
- by a taller and older, by experience, Overmeyer… Bob,
- but he was one of a few in the corp, band of brothers,
- who sang along with me, when he heard me humm,
- he knew the words, worth-ship fixing words, yes,
- we shall gather at the river that flows by the throne of truth. Mmmmhmm, so we shall see, so we shall see,
Oldman river, you know,
you wait, and wait, fishin' wishin' cogitations got from *** go,
known good, known evil, and evil comes for effect, not cause,
clean up, aisle five
hell, in a target store. And a Walmart, #26.
-- I recognized the anti particle, passing through either or,
becoming here, from there, your thinking my thinking,

wall of text, in your current context, this wall has hat

hooks to insights marked pertinent someday, in the wide ocean
at the end of any river mind me and error master,
as awareness, meandering as all fluids do.
Aligning in honed most saline crystaline form, as
current opinions shapened from dust and ash originally,
then spit the idea out as a word,
imagine
matter… mater, really, bottom first bit, was realized after
paterialization falled to manifest self reproduction…
patterned thought, fabrication, plane geometry… which we
as a team, a man and his tools, gunslinger, plus accoutrements.

Yep. Adam, did not work alone. The egg was first. He named eggs.
And chickens, full of eggs, no, hope, and chaos, nada mas…
- morals from old stories, we had lost all hold on those…
Stepmothers after The Hundred Years war, like as not was
first slave, with only obey believed enforce,
as far as
holy vows spoke allowed, but in a whisper…
hear us,
old folk, we scatterbrained old rockers by the fireplace
listen, this is living, right.
Pursue haps as haps occur, in thinking one thing or this other,

Our kind, fixed position ears perpindicularly augmenting per-
iferal vision, if, just, if. Immeasuarable meanings, justice, yes,

we settled at that point. All the Promises - in any living faith,
even dying proves life is a chance, we all go through it, and some leave marks, while others leave a heart felt
oxitocin, not cotin, red on yellow, **** a fellow, -tocin. Oxitocin,

Rush!- Kettle DRUM after a cello up run, or an old familiar rif,
Goin' up country, ' bought a map for a dime,
from a time lain aside in book, as I was seeking that Welsh word for these experience in side, feeling inside, but being mere, yes, not a limiting adjectival modification, on a word, intended to soothe,

NOT ******, soothe, as said of gentle rolling seas, calm as constant as Jupiter's ever near there, right there, red spot, there,
that is an anomoly, yet, there are those who claim clarity, that

Red spot, Ted-talk phaze, ease in, get a buzz, mmmm, slow, slow

slow
whoa, so slow, what difference can plain-people, just us,
can we ever just know, this is the way, no obstacles,
and we leave trails, and trails widen, and widen, and widen,

wide as the milky way as seen from North Korea.
What a blessing, right?
--- God made these chickens we are eating,

no, child we selected these big red hens, people, like us, we can
know how earthly goods grow and we can help, as gard'ners,
retired guardians and priests can, make soil richer,
by leaven from the native soil,
fresh after fire, sparks the bloom

Patience, paid close attention, over time,
pay is as interest always is, compounding…
complex knots
slipping infinite loops generation systems
spinning straw to gold, bricks to build a tower…

to grow mustard into brocolli and cauliflower, prosper-o

we can engineer squash blossuming
be.. not spelch-pstpst-offt-listen,
- laughing
in my home are children, aged 6 to 13, across a seven year gap…
in my home with complete 5G internal Wifi, with cable
- copper, ah
- the humm, copper wire interference, acceptible as soft
- sub-spectra sfumati self-edged,- cut from whole cloth
abrupt.
Con, is with, fuse, is
blown… but, click, we are past that, where I live, on a pension.
I survived an oath in a war. And in America, the we, as
represented in Congress after Korea, and UCMJ, reach, reach,
- remember the ears that read, need to know
right, MP talk, uniform, all the exact same alignment and weave… for forsake, forsooth, forgotten gains, -- un-fore-gotten
upright walking, living concept, Phoebe Zeitgeist
- she made a word nest in my mind, on March 16, 1968.
- On a Douglas Flying Tiger insertion mission,
Flying to a foreign land more foreign than any thus far, redux.

Surreal stepped up to real, realms of preception, Metaverse/
uniform code under it all, we wished for this, can we, can we,

please, walk back in and watch the shadows morph to home sized I-max with true-fi dolby optimized to your very own, humanity
verified self--
- eyes up, look where we were when ever, then be come you now known as dear reader, responsibility free, cookie or no?
Be any mind you find you can wear with no wish to lie,
the wrong mind set with the ears and eyes, and we cannot lie…
you lose.
The whole ritual of prayer and supersites, tics, ****. We glow…

once illegal exposure
confidential, super-secret, super-positioned tyrannical systems,

whole cloth leprosy, black mold to dust time sequence…
-- such minds as fed us Elliot and Thorough Error-prone Poses,

as seen from the repressed mind of an unassimulated inate-ifity,
We are none of us, Adam sons, his model had nor repro circuits.

Hey, once there had to be something akin to ****** birth,
really, mitochondria developed virally, just fine, so, so fine,

imagine, we got the cell, a wall, with enzyme will efforts on the doors, we open to need, and useful matter is accepted,
as in another phase we open to expel the uselesshit, which then fills the red corpuscles, which use iron to hold the load.

Flushing blushing bride, Mito-mom, her daughters, imagine…

trackless wasteland, aftermath of minor miscalculation
in the dancing cosmos, whirling
whiling, smiling
inside…

I made it. 2022, Everest Pax, is the real name
of my youngest grand son, who randomly
reassures me he loves me, as though he wishes me
to not let that slip, naturally, his version of me is fragile,

what he imagines I am can disappear, in a day,
like Uncle Mike, and Uncle Dennis, and Uncle Richard,
and Uncle Remus…
none of whom were alive, when Everest Pax was named,
by his mother, with no input from me, save
the covenant aspect in the who gives this wombed man…
common pagan ritual adapted to post-Jesus Christ-sanity.

X-mas, nada mas. Agree, and take the cookie,
or risk another death,
on the real wrong battlefield… Well, what the hell… hero
or legend in my mind, thinking, what would any who do?

Usual coincidences? Gard de Montparnasse, paranoia interpretations of mobile phoney?

garden hose apartment duplex
garden hose apartment duple
garden hose apartment dupl
garden hose apartment dup
garden hose apartment du
garden hose apartment d
garden hose apartment
garden hose apartmen
garden hose apartme
garden hose apartm
garden hose apart
garden hose apar
garden hose apa
garden hose ap
I messed it up
garden hose a
garden hose
garden hos
garden **
garden h
garden
garde
gard
gar
ga
g
ga
gay
***
freaky
freak
frea
fre
Free
Free c
Free co
Free col
Free Coll
Free colle
Free colleg
Free college

High pitch community
From one single tone
Can go from home
To a killing floor

Made all the more harrowing
Toxic trauma of the mind

Freeze up they said

Yet we push on
And we pushed hard
We pushed it too far
Then let down our gard

And now the lights flicker from green to red
A premonition of bloodshed
Locked inside the voice of
A brother or a friend
Neither one is talking now

Survive it says
Static cuts through
And the line drops dead
Outside my head the night goes on
Cheery faces basking in the light
Permissive out of innocence

Enjoying spite out of spite
Who is right
It doesn't matter
My eyes burn bright
But no one can hear

Screams are echoed all around
But transaction leaves my words devoid
Bliss is heard amiss, above
We coveted and now we pay

The price of our sin

yay jo haal hoa sare- shaam hi,
siyah dasht -o- garibaan hoa,
Mjhay hasil naan tha jo kamal bhe,
Wo bay-sabab shikasta -o -jaan hoa..
aay rahbar -e-zindagi, yay kaisi taveel tar raat hai,
Naan amaan mili, naan hi koe imtihaan hoa!!
Wo jo pamaal kar gay meray khwab ko,
us hashar-e- jaan ka kia samaan hoa;
Yunheen gard main liptay bujhay khayal,
Shahr say jaanay ka yun ihtimaam hoa!
Yay rang nhn saraab hain,yay ehsaas say door paar hain,
Meray bayrabt say tootay pyaar main,Jo hoa tou bass yunheen hoa!!

Through the towns and country lanes
fortress walls and ancient stains
Roman treasures, aquaducts
the running bulls, a stroke of luck!

Cobblestone and feudal cracks
the culture weaves and summer smacks!
enchanted ramparts, medieval ruins
coliseums and communes

Aigues Mortes to Avignon
the rolling hills and castles strong
fields of grape and olive trees
cicadas singing on the breeze

Tranquil rivers, lost lagoons
horses prancing at high noon
flora and fauna in lofty decree!
say the sycamore and cypress tree

De Lumières in tomb-like calm
illuminating sounds of Brahm
Vermeer, Picasso and Van Goh
the ghosts of Voltaire and Rousseau

Les Baux-de-Provence's immersive stage
brush strokes wide from another age
chambers deep at quarry rock
the mesmerizing notes of Bach

Sacred figures, holy shrines
monestries in grand design
blocks, arches and polished stone
gladiators at the throne

Castle turrets and dungeon bars
the ancient bridge of Pont du Gard
chapel bells across la ville
spiral stairs where time stands still

Scrolls and chronicles filled with scars
church and state with dark memoirs
scholars, artists and dignitaries
in pursuit of God...and all his glory

you never expect at the moment
income destructive blows

so always purchases gard

time takes love and then
becomes a greenhouse gard’ner:
sprouting, blooming life

I only did it for u
I only hit it for u
I wanted to be on the same page
Feel the same high
Breath the same air
Wondering if we would fly
I only did it with u
Its not really my style
I just wanted u to stay
So I lowered my gard and I tried
****
I only wanted a friend
A companion
At first we where **** in great
I could of stopped u
But u didn't want that from me
I couldn't control your needs
I really would of treated u like gold
But u left me stranded for a high
I don't do that *******
U take my money and go sleep with other guy
And know that u want to get clean
I get a **** u ******* and good by

How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their uncessant labours see
Crown’d from some single herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all flow’rs and all trees do close
To weave the garlands of repose.

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear!
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men;
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow.
Society is all but rude,
To this delicious solitude.

No white nor red was ever seen
So am’rous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress’ name;
Little, alas, they know or heed
How far these beauties hers exceed!
Fair trees! wheres’e’er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.

When we have run our passion’s heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The gods, that mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race:
Apollo hunted Daphne so,
Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.

What wond’rous life in this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons as I pass,
Ensnar’d with flow’rs, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness;
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find,
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that’s made
To a green thought in a green shade.

Here at the fountain’s sliding foot,
Or at some fruit tree’s mossy root,
Casting the body’s vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide;
There like a bird it sits and sings,
Then whets, and combs its silver wings;
And, till prepar’d for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.

Such was that happy garden-state,
While man there walk’d without a mate;
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But ’twas beyond a mortal’s share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises ’twere in one
To live in paradise alone.

How well the skillful gard’ner drew
Of flow’rs and herbs this dial new,
Where from above the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run;
And as it works, th’ industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckon’d but with herbs and flow’rs!

(After “Tintern Abbey”)

Years have passed under
The aegis of tedium.
Years have passed with
The lamentations of time.
And again I behold
The ancient sentinel
Spanning the shallow straits
Of the Gardon River.
The arches rise stalwart
And stolid, standing in
Mire against history’s
Gentle currents.
Rising high above the handful
Of tourists who have come to
Gawk and play.
Once carrying water as far
As Nimes, the troisieme etage
Still flows, spilling spirit.
We walked across it alone
In years past. The aegis
Of memory.
Pont du Gard beams in
The late, slanting sun,
A monument to engineering,
Ingenuity. Block packed on
Block, supported by the art
Of eternal geometry.
Euclid’s legacy; mortar
No necessity.
Sluices slide past skimpy
Sandbars and reeds.
Brilliant blues, silent
Witnesses to the genius
Of Rome-conquered Gaul.

Israel one May, Shanghai the next,
the world shuddered as a phase passed,
an old nation groaned again,
and the lion seemed willing
to roar for the lamb.
Children were rewards from gods,
you must believe, if you fail
to feed them they allways
die.
-- The worth of lives, halved in time,

faster than any previous code,
television in similar solutions,
attempting to spur competition,

which functional way to see afar,
becomes universal signal in cable,
piped from big round sound eyes,
seeing some contact with knowns,
long hid from those with no time
of their own,
their station in life, dictating suffering
it to be so now,
toil 'til you drop,
earn each breath,
soon some knowers come and show us
whole new ways to see time from space.

2020 tech, take a look at all you may know,
as seen clearly all at once through the black
mirror we all take as natural right,
constant geo meo location,
here am I in the midst of you
gathered in the course of human events.
----------------

I wish I knew, on Hulu,
who knew?
Who knew then,
when this body was born,
who imagined we were sold,
to be Americans,
of the most modern sort.

Augmented minds, memories
at finger tips, tapping words
in codes too quick to disre-
gard as time in chance
bon journal always
boring, back when
time was told
in shadows.

Thrum of crowd,
very human noise, peace
in time tuned to a we,
an awesome state,
we imagine.
=============

Most certain am I of this,
I was born to live in interesting times.

Making no concessions for ancestry,
I was born to the new way,
the way of peace as bought with valor,
in opposition to the cry havoc,
all spoils to the victor,
historic rule of justice reestablished,
via a twist in the antidisestablishmentarian
clause for contention, stretch. stretch
to fit,
spandex,
at the Grand Ole Opry, ommygawhds
gracious sakesalive

there was an old way, where good is, yet
today, folks fib,
little lies, don't hurt, keep the secret,
that's the rule,
priest's rule.

Remember, first secret oath you made?
I don't believe you really do,
did you know the function oaths fill,
in social clumping butter churning
emotional usery acts, mixing us,
sifting us, sorting us, fat from whey.
Then curds from that,
to pigslop, fed to slaves, chittlin'grittywise

wish this all was over, ever over,
but it's not, no
yet if you wished you knew this peace,
said to be on earth, sometimes, as it is
in heaven, as you see,
peaceful, past the clouds, but for
the raging furnaces keeping things spinning
out of control,
no,
ah, it seems, order has been called,
the judge,
you feel the knowing, in yourself, you agree,
something is always better,
twice known.

Construction rules, measure twice, cut once.

Timing, instants are details, sfumata matter
softness sensed
you know

------------------
This treeform knowing, watching life's works
conform to species, fully capable of doing

just as has been done,
selectively by patient hopeful gard'ners
and talented statistic students,

and Bible reading reformed drunks,
who had a deal with the truth, a good one,
told as
truth, being considered comprehendible,
by any mind declared independent enough
to know, truth's held as knacks is held, tight,
-if self evidence is all you got, you gotta define.
right thinkin'
tight enough to feel the weight of the wand,
right, just enough to let the child feel the water,

feel it, there, that shush, little baby,
we didn't know, we didn't know life is so hard,
at the edge of the roads all paved and painted,

while I feel blind in one eye, from onions.

Give me saint somebody a renaissance after 1 first death-dealt birth
for nothing architecturally drawn-out conforms to a planetary Earth
as proven by a Gubbi Gubbi takin' the Rottnest Island ferry to Perth
In mouths stuffed with swollen tongues & tonsils really worthwhile
tasting I feel the best times eating adenoids is worse for the wasting
speedin' speedily over the Danyang–Kunshan Grand Bridge viaduct
like it is the Gardon River's antico Romano Pont du Gard aqueduct
where, after wolfing a quokka, my intestines started to self-destruct
atop a cravenly-fabricated, sloppily-composed, malformed construct
that is reminiscent of a rotting silo of corn that hadn't been shucked
in time for agricultural bureaucrats to permit this corn to be trucked
to water-retaining ***** who hadn't been, in 5 years, ***** plucked
as big bones & slow metabolisms mean that fat ******* ain't tucked
into full Lycra-cupped Spandex brassieres: double-lined & wire-free
to hold firm pregnant Pauline from Birmingham who lived in a tree
till her National Health Service abortion that's provided without fee
unless she drops her illegitimate baby on a ****** table in a factory
she'll send letters from the country because she is a case of insanity
To protect boxers from humane decompression I will fit lively pups
into wire-free, double-lined Spandex brassieres with full Lycra cups

We had a bent, old gard'ning man
When I was just a child,
Who'd lost his home and memory,
Within a cyclone, wild!
But who he was before that day,
No one would ever know
And he came to live at our place
To help the flowers grow.
My father called him "Cyclone Bill"
And that became his name.
He never had too much to do,
To join me in some game.
One day, my grandpa came to stay
And brought me a surprise.
A doll with curly, golden hair
And lovely sky-blue eyes.

I ran outside to show her to
Cyclone Bill, my friend.
I fell and broke the pretty head
There was no way to mend.
Bill helped me up and dried my tears.
The doll's head he retrieved
And told me then, this fairytale,
That I, unquestioning, believed!
"You know potato eyes will grow
Potato plants," said he.
"Now doll's eyes grow the nicest dolls
That ever you did see,"
So underneath a rose bush fair,
We planted those blue eyes
And every day I watered them,
To help the doll plant rise.
And then one glorious morning,
Upon that precious spot,
There stood a doll as beautiful
As one my grandpa bought!


B.L.H.🦋  
11-14-1929 to 3-2-2021

Rest in peace Mom.