Mrs. Preisler My name is Ben Gorges, I’m 14 years old. I’m writing this poem from what I’ve seen, And have been told. I went to a funeral Earlier today, And I watched Mrs. Preisler, In her coffin she lay. Her face it was stiff, For death took it’s toll, As tears from eyes, Down cheeks they did roll. People stood in line, To talk to the Mr. As he stood there and cried, And thought how he’d miss her. During the sermon, I thought of the time, When I would go over there, And hear that famous line... Hi, “Uncle Ben”, I’m so glad to see you. How is your mom, How do you do? Their raspberry bush, They would let us pick. And then we’d get a popcicle, For us to lick. After we moved, They were real sad, For there was no Uncle Ben, To make them glad. We would still come, For a short little chat. But it wasn’t like the old days, No, nothing like that. I never called her by her first name, Lillian before. She was always Mrs. Preisler, When she opened the door. Mrs. Preisler had 83 happy years, But like all things, When it’s over, You end up in tears.
Reason for writing:
I was depresed when she died, so I wrote a peom in memory of her. And that made me feel better.
Birth sign: Not entered
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