Recap

Yes Sharon, Maybe I should have said, "I wrote this one morning last spring, sitting on my 100 year old couch, with feet propped up on my old hassock, stuffed with 'horse hair' if you remember what that is. It may be older than that even. The lady I got it from is 92 and it belonged to her Aunt. Oh if the divan could only talk! what stories it could tell. Who sat on it, what were they like? Maybe a little Grandmother sat and talked of Abe Lincoln, with pearl buttoned high tops, hair piled high, white gloved hands and a high lacy collar? Maybe....~~ A young lady all proper and prim, smiling and blushing, her bou just waltzed in. He takes her young hand, with a smile and a wish, thinks, Oh if I dared, I'd plant her a kiss...They sit side by side and talk of their day, It's getting so late, but he wants to stay. The oil in the courting lamp, is burning so low, She smiles , he whispers, "I really must go" He gives her a wink, Oh she's lovely no doubt, He sneaks her a kiss, as the lamp went out. ~~ Who knows what stories it could tell. A peak, deep in it's folds, shows that in it's day it was a beautiful golden bronze color. Over my left shoulder sits an old, ornate floor lamp, topped in a pretty Victorian, fringe trimmed shade. The clocks chime 'Big Ben' one after the other. Sometimes it sets the mood to write.