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Small room with one door
Pale green carpet lines the floor
Two windows, shades and curtains
Pink roses scattered uncertain
Paneled walls remember
Our Moms love this December
 
Figurines rest on dresser tops
Some gifts, others from local shops
Flower petals that hold no scent
Potpourri in baskets, its fragrance spent
Jewelry in boxes free from dust
Treasures left to us in trust

As we walk in her room
Memories flood, it’s too soon
Our hearts rhythm the song
Her being gone seems so wrong
As memories waltz in our veins
Longing for her voice, still, in vain

Pictures now our fingers trace
With each touch, her remembered grace
Eyes, once blind, can now see
Pain and sorrow gone, her soul set free
Her voice, now strong, rings in heaven above
Carried through the air on wings of the doves

To all this and more, we longingly cling
How we’d love once more, to hear Momma sing

 

By: Debra Squyres  12-3-2010

NOTE:  Though I searched in vain for the first draft of this first poem I was unable to find it. It was much longer and filled with cliches.... This is the poem I spoke of in my "Poetry on My Poetry" poem.  Of course it is cleaned up a good bit now and I've actually changed the title to "Room of Memories"

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