A Mosaic

I have written for some time now and pause, the quill in my hand rests from wear and tear; The realization strikes me in my mind, my mentor used to hold his quill the same; In morning walks I wave my hand to greet, the stranger smiles and I remember how, my Brother used to wave his hand the same; The time I contemplate, I bite my lip, my heart shows me a vison and an ache, my Love bit them the same, what I recall; The gust of wind, it ruffles my long curls, and I push back the hair, like Mother mine; I stargaze, longing my eyes bear, like him, oh how my Father gazed at them the same; and then come now to terms with fact I do, that truly, me for one - a Mosaic whole, of all I have even been in with or love.