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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Cam W. on August 20, 2000, at 15:13:36
I haven't seen CarolAnn post since Aug.2/00. I even typed in CarolAnn & p*ssed off into the search with no results. Did I miss something, again?
CarolAnn - I hope you are feeling okay.
Posted by afatchic on August 20, 2000, at 20:10:05
In reply to CarolAnn?, posted by Cam W. on August 20, 2000, at 15:13:36
> I haven't seen CarolAnn post since Aug.2/00. I even typed in CarolAnn & p*ssed off into the search with no results. Did I miss something, again?
>
> CarolAnn - I hope you are feeling okay.
Posted by michael on August 20, 2000, at 20:34:55
In reply to CarolAnn?, posted by Cam W. on August 20, 2000, at 15:13:36
CarolAnn - How about another poem? It's been a while.
> I haven't seen CarolAnn post since Aug.2/00. I even typed in CarolAnn & p*ssed off into the search with no results. Did I miss something, again?
>
> CarolAnn - I hope you are feeling okay.
Posted by JudithC on August 21, 2000, at 5:05:32
In reply to Re: CarolAnn?, posted by michael on August 20, 2000, at 20:34:55
> CarolAnn - How about another poem? It's been a while.
>
>
>
> > I haven't seen CarolAnn post since Aug.2/00. I even typed in CarolAnn & p*ssed off into the search with no results. Did I miss something, again?
> >
> > CarolAnn - I hope you are feeling okay.I came online this morning ready to post asking where you are,CarolAnn,and others had already beaten me to it! More poetry,please.
Posted by CarolAnn on August 21, 2000, at 11:56:29
In reply to Re: CarolAnn?, posted by JudithC on August 21, 2000, at 5:05:32
Hey ya'll, sorry to worry you(although nice to know you were worried!). I've been having a hard time energy-wise lately, and just couldn't stand the idea of sitting at the computer.
Here's another poem, a bit different from the others, it tells a story:Poor White Trash
They call us poor white trash,
They laugh and put us down.
The railroad draws a line,
we're on the wrong side of town.My mother's face was careworn.
Her eyes were always sad,
but we knew how much she loved us.
She gave us all she had.Daddy worked at this and that.
Always looking for easy money,
and when he wasn't drunk,
his talk was sweet as honey.I often wondered why we lived that way,
in those falling down old shacks.
I don't think, in a hundred years,
anyone made it across the tracks.Now I had dreams of a different life,
as young girls always do.
I would look into my mirrored eyes,
and beg those dreams come true.But some things just won't happen.
Some things aren't ruled by fate.
Hard work, not wishing, fulfils dreams.
I learned that much too late.Pregnant and married at fifteen,
how could I be so mistaken?
I thought he'd help me get out,
but he's my daddy all over again.Now I work for my children.
We live in our own little shack.
And every day I pray so hard,
for just one to get 'cross the track.Once I was young and pretty,
and dreamed I'd leave this place.
But now when I look in the mirror,
it shows my mother's face.
This is the end of the thread.
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