Visiting Mother's Grave

The words of a poem, like the notes of a song, often fall flat, or off key. Today, words reached toward clouds, floated on soft winds with haunting notes. The sad of honest pain tore my heart, sang of death, beneath earth’s hard crust. Yet, I saw her eyes crinkle with laughter, then felt her hand rest on my arm. The time is near. She’ll be waiting, with arms spread wide, to welcome me home.