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Recalling being age seven, at breakfast around the white, oval wood kitchen table. Sitting on a telephone book so as to reach the table, I was not able. Mom, of blessed memory and always a fresh tablecloth, newly pressed. Nobody in leisure clothes allowed, so we all were fully dressed. Only the small radio played soft melodious tunes, Music that today, nobody could even croon. My frisky wire-haired fox terrier played with his toys. Breakfasts, decades ago that I both cherish and enjoyed. Faces of sun and peace, in my memory live. The early days of this poetess, her happy, precious retrospective. September 18, 2020 2:30pm PST Edited. 9/19/2020

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 9/19/2020 12:02:00 AM
Beautiful childhood memories you have Panagiota, such a shame we have to get old. Those happy times when peace was the norm. Tom
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Panagiota Romios
Date: 9/19/2020 11:15:00 AM
Yes, we get old. But looking forward to the next life~ will far outdo this one. Just politics. One Eternal King heaven. Satan will rule hell. Don't want to end up there. Pangiexx