About the design
on February 26, 2008
In a small town where all knew all, wondered a peasant lady nobody knew. But her only friend was a young boy, brought her hot tea and leftover stew.
In those burnin' wintry Decembers, he'd pick dirty pennies up off the cold street. And while his mother was out Christmas shopping, he'd say, "Come on in, warm your feet. As long as you share with me stories". So she spoke on the product of war,
"My mother never knew who she could be, as my father lay drunk on the floor."
And she spoke of the cart that she wheeled, had keys with no locks, and guitars with no stings, and a puzzle that could never be finished, "but this is my home, these broken things are..."