Mary Warren

Always met at the door of that little red house
By the smell of homemade stew, pecan pralines,
And a sweet old lady wearing a blouse.
Her eyes blue as the sky and her hair white as snow,
She had read the bible seven times I have you know.
Proper etiquette was for sure a specialty,
One of the many lessons she had taught me.
Not a day goes by that I don't miss her terribly,
But I know she is dancing in heaven merrily.

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