I would go for a walk
When I left the school
To my aunt’s house
Where she did rule
She made her own life
Took care of her man
But she burnt his toast
It was not just tanned
I was there one day when she did
I said I would scrape it; she said No
He loves burnt toast and so she said
I burn it; that is the way to go
I think of it often; wonder who would like
Burnt toast black as midnight
He obviously; I never asked him
He was not someone you ask on a whim
I do not know if I ever talked to him
He was very English, proper and staid
Except when he drank; I stayed away
She took care of him till the nursing home
Where he had to go as he did roam
Dementia was the word, sad to see
There he died; he may be free
So burnt toast it was
Today A Memory.
March 3, 2025
