Written by: Mark Brine

In the parlor we shared Christmas gifts
'n joys that haunt once more
In the parlor we played games of chess
'n checkers on the floor
While the old black-and-white glowed above
In the dimlit coziness
Like a fireplace that tugs the eyes
'n warms the inner-ness
In the parlor on the table
where the aged-old pictures sat
In frames propped up like watching us
our generations past
Some I'd known 'n some I'd not
But if only in that still
their memories secured in me
'n I'm sure they always will
In the parlor stood the sofa I knelt upon in prayer
Slept upon in sickness and sometimes used as a chair
To sit amongst the silent love (lull) that softly settled there
Yes, like a savored odor, I yet can smell that I long to
but cannot share except in a song
In the parlor where we lived and died
And the spirits yet remain
Like an echo in a tunnel scene
Where things move, but never change
I can see us close, though not to touch
All together once again
In the parlor in nostalgic mem’ries
And in the fondly never dying then
©2004 Mark Brine Music (BMI)