Wilma’s Welcome

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He sat the table, fresh kid,
waiting for his dinner,
pushing back the war
now so far away.

His big brother smiled
glad to see him safe,
when she walked in,
carrying a steaming plate
of the best fried chicken
either had ever seen.

The aroma awoke in his memory
soft Ohio nights,
God’s righteous thunder rumbling
gentle rains cooling the hot August sky,

when Mom carried in our dinner,
fried chicken and mashed potatoes,

safety and
love.

And looking at his brother’s new wife,
he smiled and at last said,
“welcome to the family!”

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