Just Belle for Short

I now recall an old evening
when I drove to bring you chocolates
and with a head full of maybes
I sat at the kitchen table,
in a chair at the side of the room.
Watching as you cleaned the dishes
picking at the scum beneath my nails
your young brother ran in
after the dog you called scout.
Both their tails were wagging
and both their minds were filled with play.
As you turned and scolded the two
my maybe mind soon flew away
to a scene so many years from that place,
and it was my daughter izabelle
(whom we called just belle for short)
that was pulling at your apron.
And you pointed with your ring-ed finger
scolding our belle with that same face.