Jill M’dear

Jill m’dear, down the street, I dilly dally sleep, and you with your dog-fur-and-all (what’s his name), and the first time I see a hook in place of a hand, your dad’s (and I think, ‘perhaps a war’). Down, my grandma, from up North; and I dilly dally sleep just down the road, missing her, missing her, convinced by mom and her to keep company with friends - friends? I miss her, miss her, my grandma and not Jill m’dear, down the street - not in the least. Still the memory, does dilly dally and sends me back in time to keep a candle burning. We were never friends. She invited me this one night - we didn’t mesh. I left better friends back in the village. I didn’t want to go and spend the night, but I was convinced; and would I remember this night so vividly, besides? My grandma also convinced me to wander out in curlers, ‘neath a scarf. Self conscious was I, but if she was here, back from the past, I’d wander out once again, to a store, red in face. Would I then go and spend time, once more, with Jill m’dear, just to glimpse my gram’s convincing, and hear her Buffalonian accent? You betcha! …and see my mom, too.