The Old Songs Play Themselves
Some heard as his mother
stood over ironing in the 1947
summer of Hatboro, Pa..
Some of the songs
in black and white
Saturday evening television circles.
Some later, songs of folksy pretension.
The songs persist
anchors of memory,
like the crystaline
seeds of clouds,
matrons of tribes.
Copyright © Don Schaeffer | Year Posted 2013
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