Fresh from her afternoon nap,
She’d sit at the dining table,
Grading her children’s work books,
Preparing the next day’s lesson.
I’d sneak looks at her from the solitary sofa,
Bewildered, wondering at her simplicity,
As she worked the children’s papers,
Anastasia purring sweetly on her knees.
It eluded me how she attained such pure felicity,
That sweet, delicious, gentle girl,
Now become my revere.
