Dish-Towels

Grandma's dish-towels,
Fluttering on the line.
So white...like angel wings,
Made of unfringed twine.

Up and down they arose and fell,
Suspended from a post.
Like time-beats of the angels,
And each one playing host.

Grandma cleaned them in a tub,
And hung them up to dry.
Circling with an angel band,
That moved up in the sky.

Grandma placed them on her shelf,
To wipe her plates and glasses.
So tidy, neat and clean they were,
And pleasing...as she passes.

Dish-towels moving on the line,
Grandma's white and treasured things.
Fluttering in the gentle breeze,
Like the rise of angel wings.


E.P. 1908 - 1989