Where the Wind Blows
The rocking
chairs sit empty
On the feont porch
of that old house
But the memories are
embedded there
In the wind through
the windows to the
quiet squeek of a
mouse.
Grandma no longer
stands
In that kitchen over
there
With her broad smile
and laughter
With her shiny,
white hair.
And grandpa no
longer
Fills the air with
his pipe.
Grandma sure hated
that habit,
But, grandpa was
always by her side.
Yes, the rocking
chairs sit empty
But the memories
through the windows
continue to blow.
As quietly the wind
Rocks the rocking
chairs too and fro.
Copyright © Sherry Smith | Year Posted 2013
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