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Poem

Those we love don't go away, 
they walk beside us everyday.
Their murmurs, soft, in tree leaf whisper
defrosts my heart that did grow crisper

with grief that stained inside and out
when I existed with my doubt
that vanished voices of my yesteryear
would come alive and stir the atmosphere.

Breezy hands, they touch my shoulder,
rustling lilac plumes and growing bolder—
as shaking purple scent awakens my recall
of June bouquets that did enthrall.

Polaroid moments in mindful frames
can flare or tame these mournful flames.
Our days were filled with cheer and dare;
but now, their souls, they fly as clear as air

or sit, to contemplate as still as moss.
They come to help alleviate my loss;
I see them in the blue of sky or wisp of cloud,
or sunshine warmth spilled over crowd;

I catch a glimpse in happy eyes
and sense they’re there in spirits' guise.
A moment here and then they’re gone,
beyond white veils of angel-air-chiffon.

I’ve come to know and feel inside
that never-ending, they’ll reside
within me always, and everywhere.
To sense them near, fulfills my humble prayer.

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