Mom had a cherry dinette set
And the table was drop-leaved.
I spent hours with my sister there,
Hiding to play make-believe.
Under the table, no one could see
What we colored or know what we dreamed;
Or that all those hours under there
We weren’t as good as we seemed.
Under the table, mom never saw
Crayon marks on the underside,
Nor did she hear us plan our lives
Under that table, where we would hide.
When I see a drop-leaved table now,
It makes fond memories flow;
My heart is overwhelmed in a way
That only my sister can know.
copyright © 1998 by moleta ruth mccarter. all rights reserved.
