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

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Mel Clifford

Experienced coach & consultant dedicated to personal growth. Offering coaching, public speaking, & insightful books on personal development & business management.


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