Once more the thread is silent, and half-blind
Under the quieted storm of heart, and mind,
Our Mom now rests; here in her quietude,
Dormant from over-eating rich BS-filled food,
Nothing but instants, circuits, and the BS ghost
Stands between her slumber and another post.

Hialso Waytes
Who Only Stands to Serve
Macleish Alterations and Fitting,
Brooklyn, 1947