See, she sits down there
With a pensive stare.
I have seen her like that before:
Face squeezed up in a pore.
I ask myself,
What’s on her mind?

She’s been silent all day,
Going from room to room.
She opens one drawer,
And closes it with a hiss.
I look away, knowing there’ll be no kiss.
But what’s on her mind?

One minute ago there was laugher,
And she danced after.
Now she bangs the door,
As she stamps her feet on the floor
Like she is at war.
I ask myself,
What’s on her mind?

She has just prepared the meal,
Sweet delicious meal of veal,
Garnished in a beautiful tray.
“Thanks,” I learn to say.
Then she stands and away,
And I ask myself,
What’s on her mind?

Now it’s end of the day,
Time to sit together to play.
She looks down from the stairs
In flaming stares,
With a duster in her hand;
And again I ask myself,
What’s on her mind?

Books are written to be read,
And I’m a good reader.
Give me a book and I will read it;
Please don’t give me your mind,
‘Cause I can’t read it.


Excerpts from Pages of My Heart: Book One

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