***

Remember...I loved my father,
 strict mother was,
 I haven't forgotten the house in the village,
 like a snowstorm in the chalk fields.
 How the logs burned,
 hot on his chest,
 snow was removed from the farmstead--
 firewood clearing the way.
 Like a cow mooing--
 to milking the grandmother called,
 hot bread from the oven,
 Yes, with a blush.
 No home for a long time,
 don't drive into the middle of nowhere,
 in childhood sadness I know--
 happy days erased the line.
 
 Rhone. 02.01.2020.