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A Black Round TableA black round table, with glass in the middle. He used it to eat, or write or even to solve a riddle. A five-year boy, so young and happy inside. A very beautiful lady, sitting by his side. She's holding his hand, guiding his pencil, with a loving touch. She's looking at him: I love you dear, I love you so much. Teach me mama … Teach me how to feel, teach me how to love. Teach me to be real, but take my hopes above. Hold your pencil dear … easy not so tight. Write smile dear … you make my life so bright. Draw a flower dear … draw a loving heart. Read the letters dear … I want you to be smart. A, B, C … 1, 2, 3. Come closer dear … come to me. I still remember, as I grow older, The black round table, with glass in the middle. A grown up man, old and happy inside. A very beautiful old lady, sitting by his side. * Dedication * With love to the one who taught me how to read, how to write, how to feel, how to love, and how to think. To the most wonderful woman I have ever met.To my mother. Copyright ©2004 Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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