Soothing, in the dark,
me lying outside the covers,
warm along her curved body.  

Quavering, help me,
I’m sick, call Daddy,
and I go to the hall,
pick up the receiver
with its looping black cord.  

Joyful, Libbety-bib,
teasing, Arise, O Lib,
admonishing, lips pursed,
Queen Elizabeth.  

Growling, laughing,
reading me Ferdinand the bull
and the story about the possum
at the bottom of the barrel.   

Hopeful, tomorrow,
that newwww day, will
come.  It will come.       

    For Roberta Wilson Gilkison Falk     
    (June 20, 1913-April 21, 1980)