footsteps patter on the linoleum, echoes which are quite loathsome to mothers.   the light flickers yellow, a house sculpted by Donatello that lacks the warmth of his work.   chimney...

The sky was green from noon to dawn.  Waking up with a willowy yawn, the little ones started   They departed like frisky strings,  Bellying and yelling their late-night dreams.    Their...

Oh, how you are just like your mother. Your chin is long like hers, and your eyes are tilted like hers. You are humble like she is, but neither of you is afraid to stand up for yourself if needed. You...