The Bequest
When my wife’s great Aunt ‘Dora died
We received a strange bequest.
Not land or Gold or Mallomars
But a box, covered in dust.
Her will strictly enjoined us
from opening the box.
The sides had cryptic puzzles
That served it as strong locks
The box was rather ornate
Carved from finest sandalwood
Inlaid with golden letters
a Greek would have understood.
We both took very seriously
The task to guard this prize
To keep this family heirloom
preserved from prying eyes..
Ten years it stood there in our room
An enigmatic guest
And often I would ponder it
while I was getting dressed.
Until one dark December day
In the Millennial year
Curiosity overcame my wife
And she succumbed, I fear.
My Darling, being curious,
Solved the riddles on the side
She was just prying up the lid
As I ran inside..
A disembodied Banshee screamed
The air was thick and red.
I rushed to close the box back up
in existential dread.
Still, the world seemed little changed
As I sequestered hope.
The radio said by 5-4
George Bush had won the vote
I think on all that’s happened since
As things have gone to Hell
Bloody wars in foreign lands
Discord at home as well.
Since then twin towers crashed and burned
And Wall Street did the same
Do you think it could be possible
Aunt Pandora’s Box shares blame?
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Related quotes
Atlantic City
On a bus I did ride,
to the NJ Seaside.
Ten years earlier I was also there,
with my aunts with golden curly white hair.
That’s when Trump made a splash,
offering old lady a lot of cash.
Madonna was on her Blonde Ambition tour,
dominating all of the world.
Now Great Aunt Mary and Aunt Joanie,
did go with me,
to Trump’s casino in Atlantic City.
Gambling nickels was their bet,
I did not gamble-had to pay the rent.
Tiny little red notebook I did buy,
writing stories by oceanside.
Writing on trains and subways too,
all stories still there, there’s quite a few.
Now in 2000 I when I went there again
visited Long Island to see my friends.
Went to Javits Convention Ctr in NYC
saw licensed characters who were cute and silly.
Yes this was the year I missed my plane,
Year before Twin Towers fell in sadness and pain.
Would visit NYC again and again,
everything has really changed.
The National September 11 Memorial & Museum
will open up this year,
residents will remember friends so dear.
Now my Great Aunt passed away,
will have to visit the boardwalk once again.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Atlantic City
On a bus I did ride,
to the NJ Seaside.
Ten years earlier I was also there,
with my aunts with golden curly white hair.
That's when Trump made a splash,
offering old lady a lot of cash.
Madonna was on her Blonde Ambition tour,
dominating all of the world.
Now Great Aunt Mary and Aunt Joanie,
did go with me,
to Trump's casino in Atlantic City.
Gambling nickels was their bet,
I did not gamble-had to pay the rent.
Tiny little red notebook I did buy,
writing stories by oceanside.
Writing on trains and subways too,
all stories still there, there's quite a few.
Now in 2000 I when I went there again
visited Long Island to see my friends.
Went to Javits Convention Ctr in NYC
saw licensed characters who were cute and silly.
Yes this was the year I missed my plane,
Year before Twin Towers fell in sadness and pain.
Would visit NYC again and again,
everything has really changed.
The National September 11 Memorial & Museum
will open up this year,
residents will remember friends so dear.
Now my Great Aunt passed away,
will have to visit the boardwalk once again.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on May 23,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Old Aunt Mary's
Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,
In those old days of the lost sunshine
Of youth-- when the Saturday's chores were through,
And the 'Sunday's wood' in the kitchen too,
And we went visiting, 'me and you,'
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
It all comes back so clear to-day!
Though I am as bald as you are gray--
Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,
We patter along in the dust again,
As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
We cross the pasture, and through the wood
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
Where the hammering 'red-heads' hopped awry,
And the buzzard 'raised' in the 'clearing' sky
And lolled and circled, as we went by
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And then in the dust of the road again;
And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
And the long highway, with sunshine spread
As thick as butter on country bread,
Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
Why, I see her now in the open door,
Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er
The clapboard roof--! And her face-- ah, me!
Wasn't it good for a boy to see--
And wasn't it good for a boy to be
Out to Old Aunt Mary's?
The jelly-- the Jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry and quince 'preserves'' she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare--!
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to Old Aunt Mary's!
And the old spring-house in the cool green gloom
Of the willow-trees--, and the cooler room
Where the swinging-shelves and the crocks were kept--
Where the cream in a golden languor slept
While the waters gurgled and laughed and wept--
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
And O my brother, so far away,
This is to tell you she waits to-day
To welcome us--: Aunt Mary fell
Asleep this morning, whispering-- 'Tell
The boys to come!' And all is well
Out to Old Aunt Mary's.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Grandma's Treasure Box
Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to
Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;
the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..
My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.
No one who'd seen
could talk of it.
No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.
No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.
She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.
Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.
She still wrote letters
30 years later
to every Mayor
complaining about the
tracks and the trains
saying she wanted them torn down.
Every month a letter.
Grandmother never
gave up;
never forgot;
fierce in her loves
fierce about her neighborhood
fierce about things which displeasured her
fierce about family
fierce about everything.
I sat with her,
apron on:
she served me pie.
'Sonny' she said
now you at the age
where you need to
learn grown-up things.
Like your Dad and brother
your turn now come
to see what drives
this family;
our family heirloom so to speak.
You'll see now.
As you grow up
you hear people talking about it
but we are the only family that
has it in our treasure box.
Lot's want it
but we the only one's
that has it.
She walked me up her tiny
narrow stair case to the attic
my head spinning,
wondering what it could be.
What did we have in our family
that the whole world wanted?
The treasure box was small;
a faded gold color
with a hand-carved lid
covered by Grandma's
liver-spotted hand
which shook in the dim
light.
She shifted the box,
opening it with a tiny key
smiling faintly
her eyes moistening
as a sliver of sunlight
reflected into the opening box
and I could just begin to
see what was inside.
'There it is'
she said
'What is it? ' I said,
staring at a piece of cloth;
satin sheen
with a lace border.
'Every since your great
grandmother got
it has been the luck of this family
and so people's all over the
world hear about but
we the only one's who got it.
'What is it?
Your great great grandmother's;
cut from her mother's wedding dress
and from that day
this families' luck changed.
I looked at her eyes
looking for an answer there.
'Grandma what is it?
You heard of the Silver Lining'
Yes, I said.
Well this family has the only one.
It is the Silver Lining from your great, great,
grandmothers wedding dress.
Grandma had it
and she believed it had saved our family
all these years.
'I took it out when
your mother had her cancer
and she got better
and it took away her pain.
I took it out when your younger brother
had his accident, and he lived.
I took it out when your grandfather went to war
and he came home safe.
I take it out when ever this family needs things.
It is our Silver Lining.
Now you must never speak
or tell what is in the treasure box
or it will break the spell.
I never did to this day
Today I have the Treasure Box
waiting for my child
to have a chance to see.
Grandma's gone
leaving behind her Silver Lining
for the rest of us.
And on some days
I do take it out
when things look
like they might go bad.
Just for luck.
Everyone
is always
looking for a Silver Lining
and some luck.
All the Grandmothers
gave us ours.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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At My Aunt's Unveiling
AT MY AUNT’S UNVEILING
At my aunt’s unveiling
There were five of us
Only five
One was a woman
A friend of hers
Not the closest one
But someone who knew her
And wanted to be a friend.
Thousands of people had known my aunt
Hundreds had worked with or for her
She was born into a large family
But all of them were gone
Or out of it.
My sister and I were the relatives
My aunt had been very generous to us
And difficult for my sister
Who cared for her.
I had only been a taker all the years.
My aunt worked so hard for so many years
And she was ‘somebody’ in her world
There were five of us there
And the ceremony short
No minyan.
There was no sign of my aunt’s smile
Or her nervous energy or her superabundant love
‘Moll ‘as my mother called her
was not there.
I see her so clearly in my mind now
‘What does it all mean? ’ my father would ask my mother
after reading of the death of another person they knew
‘What does it all mean’
When my sister and I go
The memory of my aunt
Will be gone forever.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Aunt Tabitha
THE YOUNG GIRL'S POEM
WHATEVER I do, and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the way;
When she was a girl (forty summers ago)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.
Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice!
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice
And besides, I forget half the things I am told;
But they all will come back to me--when I am old.
If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out;
She would never endure an impertinent stare,--
It is horrid, she says, and I must n't sit there.
A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own,
But it is n't quite safe to be walking alone;
So I take a lad's arm,--just for safety, you know,--
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't do so.
How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!--But stay--
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?
If the men were so wicked, I 'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?
I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!
A martyr will save us, and nothing else can;
Let me perish--to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha 'll tell me she never did so.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Loved Stranger
I remembered I'd promised my Aunt Adele before she died
that I'd get in touch with her family in Oz
just to put matters to rest, since they'd not spoken for years
since she upped and went off with this Pom
and left the family without its clever high-earner...
I wasn't looking forward to it with all that bad blood -
'Enough for a vampire's transfusion' said my uncle, the culprit -
but a promise is a promise. I had Auntie's old phone book;
worked out the time here that would be Sunday afternoon in Oz.
The voice was open, strong, friendly - I guessed I'd hit
that great moment when they'd had the barbie,
the few beers after the few beers,
the guests had just gone off
and the washing-up could wait until after a beer...
He was really glad I'd phoned -
he'd been away from the family most of his life, one reason and another -
so we didn't have much to try to piece together
which was probably a good thing, could've been
a pretty forced, stilted conversation -
so we got chatting about one thing and another,
our different lifestyles, our families -
and you know how it is, strangers on a train and all that,
got quite carried away, about how much we enjoyed life,
loved our wives and families, wouldn't change a thing,
what life had taught us - almost anything, everything really
like we were old friends who hadn't met up for years..
It was quite late on in the conversation, when we were working out
if we couldn't fix up a family visit, and he'd said,
no, they'd never lived in Adelaide (after which city
Aunt was proudly named - 'greatest city on earth' they said,
not having travelled further than Sydney -)
when I realised I'd phoned the wrong number; but
felt good and he too I guess.
So I had to choose the moment
to laugh and say hey this is an expensive call,
talk to the wife and call you back, Jacko...
I've never known my family so bloody merry
as when the story got around.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The scorching sun
Prying eyes are the scorching sun.
Prying eyes dry the sprouting love.
Prying eyes fail the budding love.
Yet there spring fresh sprouts and buds.
08.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The African Chief
Chained in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude
That shrunk to hear his name--
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground:--
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.
Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,
He was a captive now,
Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.
The scars his dark broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.
Then to his conqueror he spake--
'My brother is a king;
Undo this necklace from my neck,
And take this bracelet ring,
And send me where my brother reigns,
And I will fill thy hands
With store of ivory from the plains,
And gold-dust from the sands.'
'Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.
A price thy nation never gave
Shall yet be paid for thee;
For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,
In lands beyond the sea.'
Then wept the warrior chief, and bade
To shred his locks away;
And one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.
Thick were the platted locks, and long,
And closely hidden there
Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.
'Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold
Long kept for sorest need:
Take it--thou askest sums untold,
And say that I am freed.
Take it--my wife, the long, long day,
Weeps by the cocoa-tree,
And my young children leave their play,
And ask in vain for me.'
'I take thy gold--but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife will wait thee long.'
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.
His heart was broken--crazed his brain:
At once his eye grew wild;
He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,
They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Twin Towers
When I was but a tiny child
Back when the world was new
My parents like twin towers stood
And everything was true
My father died at Eighty one
Peacefully asleep
My mother lived ten years alone
In the house up from main Street
The Century turned over then
In the new millennium
When Mother in the nursing home
reached her journey’s end.
Your first impulse must be to cry
When towers fall, when people die
If Brick and stone- you build anew
If of flesh- the monument is you.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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A Countryside Dream
Harry and his wife were up in their loft
at their home just outside Felixstowe
they were rummaging through stuff
left to them by his eccentric Aunt Flo.
'Old Flo loved to collect antiques, said Harry
she was always going to auctions and sales
so you never know what we could find
look, remember this old painting she bought in Wales? '
They wiped away years of dust and cobwebs
to reveal a picture of verdant fields and a stream
in the bottom corner was the artists signature
on the back were the words: A Countryside Dream.
Whilst looking for the picture and artist on the Internet
Harry suddenly began to sweat and then shake
because unbeknown to his eccentric Aunt Flo
she had obtained a masterpiece by the great Mr Cake.
So the painting went up for sale at Sotheby's
Harry and his wife wondering how much would it make?
It eventually sold for a staggering Fifty Million Quid
this Victorian masterpiece by the illustrious Mr Cake.
But sadly this tale isn't all what it seems
as poor old Harry was just having a weird dream
he'd fallen asleep whist watching the Antiques Roadshow
after eating far too much Cake, and Ice-Cream!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Grave who was my great grand ma
She was good woman she bring
us grace to the family
She was great friend and mom and sister
and great grand ma
She bought everyone in the family Grace
Grace was strong woman and nice and kind
and loving and caring and sweet
When she came in to our life she was
great in our life
She love me and everyone else when she
and ma say both love me
It was like Grace she bought me was in
my heart and soul
Grace was good woman and good person
who went to church
God needed my great grand ma to have things of
Grace be bring up their to everyone else like she
did here
God bought a good person in this world and to everyone
hearts Grace is my family and friend
Grace was strong and she was leader all of the family
She was great leader and good friend and family and
she was love and everyone will miss her and wish she
was still here with us
But Grace is with us and she live in us she a hero just
like my aunt is
We love Grace and my aunt and great grand pa and we
always will love these three strong people.
poem by Kristina Riggs
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Gigolo Aunt
Grooving around in a trench coat
With the satin on trail
Seems to be all around in tin and lead pail, we pale
Jiving on down to the beach
To see the blue and the gray
Seems to be all and its rosy-its a beautiful day!
Will you please keep on the track
cause I almost want you back
cause I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt, youre a gigolo aunt!
Yes I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt, youre a gigolo aunt!
Heading down with the light, the dust in your way
She was angrier than, than her watershell male
Life to this love to me - heading me down to me
Thunderbird shale
Seems to be all and its rosy - its a beautiful day!
Will you please keep on the track
cause I almost want you back
cause I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt
Grooving on down in a knapsack superlative day
Some wish she move and just as she can move jiving away
She made the scene should have been-superlative day
Everythings all and its rosy, its a beautiful day
Will you please keep on the track
cause I almost want you back
cause I know what you are
You are a gigolo aunt...
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Had a Little Brother Once
Had a little brother once
Died at six months old
Tears fell but all was not well
With family at home
Barely remember
His face his smile
I was only five years old
When angels took him away
Mum cried for days
Dad yelled and screamed
Why was he taken away?
I could neither cry
Or shout out why
To young to understand
Just merely watched
The heartache and pain
As we grieved
With each passing day
Soft brown eyes
Gentle soul
That's all I could remember
Of my little brother
Another lost young soul
I sit and ponder
What would he be like?
To discover this land
If he was still here
At home were he belonged
All misty eyed
I start to cry
And wish you were here
Besides your family
And your friends
poem by Kaila George
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On The Road
My aunt lives over there
you said
and Jimmy looked
over the back
of the coal truck
to where you were pointing
and said
we must be far
from home then
if that’s where she lives
and you looked over
at the apartments
wondering if your aunt
was home or not
and the coal guy said
best keep your heads down boys
don’t want people wondering
what the heck you’re doing
in the back of a coal truck
and so you and Jimmy
got underneath
the tarpaulin
and the driver pulled away
to deliver more coal
and Jimmy said
if my old girl
knew I was here
she’d hit the roof
or worse
and you said
well it’s been an adventure
it got us out
of the block
and on the road
for a while
and when we get
back home
we best sneak
out of here
and hope to God
we ain’t covered
in that coal dust
all over out jeans
and tee-shirts and such
or we’ll be in for it
and outside
you could hear
the pitter patter of rain
on the tarpaulin
and imagined
you could hear
Jimmy’s mother’s
sharp angry voice
through the darkness calling.
poem by Terry Collett
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Cricket!
I rose in the dark, felt my way through the room,
We have no en-suite so I groped in the gloom,
The bladder is dicky at my time of life
So I tried to get out without waking the wife.
But outside the door stood a figure I knew
From the Halloween Party the wife had been to,
A monkey, who stood like a simian guard
Holding something quite furry, and rigid and hard!
I said, 'Step aside! I must get to the loo
Or there may be an accident, all over you! '
So he did, with a grunt, and I staggered away
Down the hall to the loo, at the break of the day.
But when I returned he had quite disappeared
And I entered the bedroom to see what I feared,
For there on the bed causing all sorts of strife
He was up to his armpits in Molly, my wife!
I called out - 'Old chap! Now that's not really nice
Coming in from the jungle and bonking my wife! '
He just went on grunting and humping away
As my wife lay there snoring, ignoring the day.
'I know what your name is! ' I said, 'Ken de Groot!
I was there, watched you hiring that old monkey suit!
You're from the same club, you're a first order bat
But I don't think it's cricket what you're playing at! '
The wife kept on snoring, I thought it was strange
With her legs round his neck, like some act, pre-arranged,
But I didn't dare wake her, she might have a fit
If she woke to a monkey just doing his bit!
He got up and left, I was sadly distressed
Though I tried not to show it, she woke up and dressed.
'Is there anything wrong my sweet possum? ' I said,
'Nothing dear... but I dreamt of a monkey in bed! '
The following morning it happened again,
I rushed to the loo as the monkey went in,
I tore off his mask; not de Groot - Eddie Burns!
It seems the whole Cricket Club takes it in turns!
Then day after day it was more like a zoo,
Not just monkeys, but rhino's, and elephants too,
They start before dawn and they line up three deep
While my neighbour's say: 'How d'you expect us to sleep? '
While Molly still slumbers away every morn,
The rhino turns up once a week with his horn,
I knew when I met her she'd always kept pets,
But now she gets checked every week at the vets!
So bowing to fate, I threw open the door
The Cricket Club loves dressing up, I keep score.
I stand by the door - not to watch what they did
But to bolster my pension each day - fifty quid!
5 December 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Love Letters
She held a pack of love letters tied with ribbons and bows.
these were the love letters that she would never show.
Every one of them was dated first to last
These were the letters that held a life past.
Times may pass and things may change
But memories stay the same.
The writing of love letters had slowly disappeared
But she held on to them from year to year.
She sat with the letters in her lap.
As the tears rolled down her eyes
He had said he would be with her
Till the day he died
And fifty years later
He met his maker
And was carried to the cemetery
by the undertaker.
The letters had been written
with tenderness and love
Proclaiming every thing
Even the stars above.
He said life was meaningless if with her
His life he could not share.
And losing her was something
he could not bear.
Now that he was gone and she
Was left all alone.
The house didn’t seem
like much of a home.
She knew her children would not understand
Why she held the love letters in her hand.
These were the memories that kept her alive
And on that she couldn’t deny.
But her mind and body was fading fast
And she knew she could not last.
So to her children she bequeathed
The letters that she cherished all her life
For that was her husband, and she was his wife.
These are the love letters that your father
Wrote to me when we were young and carefree.
He told me of all that life had to offer.
And of all the love he had for me
And that he wanted to raise a family.
When you read his letters you will know
Why I loved this man so.
And now it’s time for me to go.
Because your father awaits me on the other side
And we’ll be together for all of time
poem by Louis Rams
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Fight like a Girl
Before he spoke, I think I knew,
but did not dare to say its name.
The swollen lymph node was a clue
My self exam told much the same.
Twenty eight and newly wed-
What will my husband say and do?
I face the loss of both my breasts.
Will he leave me? Are we through?
When I am ripped apart by knife
for my double mastectomy.
Will I no longer be his wife?
Will he no more lie close to me?
Where once I had such golden hair
A bright bandanna I will wear.
I’ve put my trust in my Physician
To chart the course and gain remission
My prognosis remains uncertain-
We don’t know yet if it has spread.
The doctors fear I’ll be infertile,
I’ll be a favorite Aunt instead.
When fighting like a girl, I battle
Many nights I question “why? ”
The monster seeks to test my mettle.
First defeat it, and then I'll cry.
For Jeanette, our favorite aunt, forever in our hearts.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Annunciation
'The lord appeared in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush and behold, the bush burned with fire and the bush was not consumed.'-EXODOUS iii.2.
When to your virgin heart, unstirred, ungiven,
Upon the quiet mountainside untrod,
The sudden naked fire came down from heaven,
Burning you with the very breath of God,
Was the sun lost? Were all the sweet stars dim
While God raised round your head those walls of light?
Were you locked dumbly, terribly with Him,
Within that burning temple day and night?
What was it to have God there like a bird-
God like a great, gold flower upon your breast-
While He spake things that only one man heard,
Face down before that glory manifest?
When that strange flame went up the mountain side,
Were your forsaken lips so burned with gold
That the creatures of the wild stood off and cried,
And in your breast no blossom dared unfold?
Did you call back the startled birds to build,
And put forth all your simple buds again,
Forgetting how your branches once were filled,
In sweet embrace of passing sun and rain?
Or were all other birds forbidden sing
After those great, gold plumes had made their nest?
Was, in its strange and awful blossoming,
That great, gold flower the last upon your breast?
poem by Muriel Stuart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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R.I.P. Aunt Tammy
Dear Aunt Tammy I know your in a better place now but it is still hard.
The last time I have seen you was at your grave and i can't get over it.
I need you, i need you by my side. I dream about you every night and I
dream about the past when you would hold me i would stop crying when
I was a baby but still i stopped. And with you gone its like the end of the
world. You were the third one of the pattern and what i mean by that is
the first person that died was three years ago and that was uncle pat.
Then it was great grandma hover a year later. Then you a year after her.
My live without you is a living nightmare now and i know you won't be
able to read this but im still writing it.
poem by Angelina Sabia
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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