One Perfect Day
STUBBORN!
A KIND BLESSING
CARDINAL LESSONS
ONE PERFECT DAY
Poetry Poem
THE TALE OF FRIEDA MOGAL
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THE REAL THING
When young, I lived in starched cotton
dresses and sensible shoes.
My hair was styled in curls which usually
became wild and unruly,
Although I wished to be wild and unruly
like my hair, fear was there!
Would my adopted relatives still love a
wild, unruly devil-may-care?
Now I laugh and cry at the old black and
white pictures of the family home,
A place from which I will never really be
free, the real me lost there,
Repressed so that I still cannot find the
person I was meant to be!
Now I am sixty-three and rarely wear dresses
for others to see,
Pictures I take on color film are of a yellow
home that is my own.
My long, unruly curls have long been shorn,
but the REAL me still waits to be born!
THE REAL THING
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