Michael Ramel The Primordial Poet Poet Quatrain

Edie

Born in January of thirty-five,
Down Six Mile Road the stork flew by.
The parlor was opened, bed moved in and heated
In anticipation of the bundle of joy named Edith
Her childhood home still stands today,
A witness to memories along the way.
She’s passed that house a thousand times,
Each visit brings nostalgia’s chimes
A waft of scent, a sunset’s hue,
A song that brings the past in view.
In a heartbeat, she’s back once more,
To laughter, tears, and days of yore.
God’s timing marked by the birthdays here
The fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth revere 
A lineage sprawling, hard to count
Birthdays and Christmases, with many about.
Stories aplenty, tales to unfurl,
From decades spent within this world.
Ninety years—what yarns she’s spun,
Of times forgotten, and days begun.
Family gatherings, joy and pain,
Births and marriages, sunshine and rain.
Farewells whispered, goodbyes said,
And always the smell of homemade bread.
She pauses now, takes a deep breath,
Reflects on friendships, life, and the bereft.
Some gone before, some still remain,
Coffee companions meet each day
And as these verses find their close,
One promise stands, a faith she chose:
Choose this day Whom you will serve
With steady heart and steadfast Word.
As for her house, they’ll serve the Lord

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