I Wish I'd Learned to Foxtrot

Up to Coldstream to visit my aunt, happily now home from hospital.   She always wrote, and today we found a folder of some of her work.  I was honoured when she recited some of her poetry for me.   The title is the first line of one of her poems.

She may not remember my visit, but I hope she remembers how loved she is. She turns 95 next week.