Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.225.92.18

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Now Dona Rose thinks peon bowls are for
the lower classes- priest is making joke.
In mind, with "pobres" she would never yoke.
Don Jose gave his wife a mild rebuke.
His disapproval he now doesn't cloak.
Such attitude's enough to make him puke.

"Have you ever had to drink out of anything but silver cup or
crystal glass, Dona Rose? I know you don't like peon cups, but
that's all the priest has. Why don't we try them?"
"I don't use peon cups, Jose. They're all right for pobres and
indians, but they're not for Castilians."
Don Hernandez knew it futile to argue issue with wife. They'd
been married forty years and in matters of condescension,
Castilian pride always won out. With pique and resignation, he
again gave in.
"We'll leave Dona Rose, but I don't think it's below a Californian's
dignity to drink from earthenware cups. If they're good enough for
priests, surely they're good enough for us."
Margarita was happy to hear father's decision. She was greatly relieved in knowing she'd soon be away from Huerra's unwelcomed presence. Closing fan with much display, she let it be known, in that way, she too was certainly ready to leave. Don Huerra and Diego say Margarita's fan flourish. Both rose from pew seats, first graciously making way for older man, then respectfully bowing to passing ladies. Only Dona Rose smiled in return.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required