How she must have missed those green hills of Ireland. Walking along hard grey streets in Brooklyn. Remembering scent of grassy meadows hurrying along ten long blocks to climb the filthy subway. Her marriage failed, her health gone. Nobody seemed to care. Her smiling days were over. The unlucky are often alone. Missing those sweet …
My Mother | Joan McNerney Read More »
The post My Mother | Joan McNerney appeared first on Best Poetry.
Go to Source
Author: Best Poetry Online
