Thirteen Years
Her Voice I heard in my yard;
Waking up was really hard.
Saw her face and made a scene;
OH! It was only a dream.
Her voice, her laugh, the way she sounded;
She had a way of keeping us grounded.
Her smell, her touch, gone it would seem,
To see her again but not in a dream.
Always admiring her family she raised.
We did no wrong we got nothing but praise.
Stories she told made her brown eyes gleam.
To hear them again but not in a dream.
Family and friends, she had so many,
For each of us her love was plenty.
Cookies and candies of bright red and green,
To taste them again but not in a dream.
At first her walk,
Then her talk,
Anger arrived with steam.
To love her again but not in a dream.
Thirteen years not nearly enough;
The very last day was clearly rough.
Sometimes it helps to yell and scream;
I really wish this was all a dream.
Copyright © Emily Kostecki | Year Posted 2016
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