Childhood friends to whom you were tied at the hip cast a long spell. Here is a little poem for one of those.
For you
She'd always say,"Me and her,"
chin up, shoulders back,
and the tale that followed
featured bold imagination
and great daring-hers not mine.
The last time I saw her
sitting in a wheelchair
at her own mother's funeral
she was regaling an audience
with a tale about homework-
mine, not hers, but copied by her.
"They gave me an F and her an A,"
she complained with a chuckle.
"Just goes to show," she added.
She'd had good innings, "No regrets,"
hers not her mother's-
she told me that day.
"But do you remember the time...?"
I didn't.
She never forgot.
She'd have made a great chronicler
if she hadn't been so busy
living her life....
In joyous memory of Ethna
Copyright 2022 Cathy Leonard All rights reserved
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