No Title
June 13, 2014
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This poem was written by my Mother. It has no title and I am not sure when she wrote it. My sister Maggi gave it to me, so I thought I would share it with you. A smokey room, chink of glass The bar is full, no room to pass Familiar faces one by one They gather around, the day’s work done Among the faces one or two The village drunk I thought I knew Avoid that man as he stumbles past My hair curls up, this drink the last Marge Clifford