“Marching by – Each carrying a pail of memories – I realize they are a part of me”
A candle in the
window burns in the eve,
as I knock faintly then
turn to leave.
Then the handle begins to
turn, and a voice invites
me in,
guiding me through a
hallway, dark and grey.
There are pictures on the wall,
almost as if they are of me,
from a small child to a girl,
who is now grown and tall.
Another door before me
opens slowly, as I peer in,
there is a room so grand with
an hourglass of passing sand.
A chair sits in the middle
and I take a seat.
There are some little ones,
I ask them come near that we
may meet.
Marching by, they are forlorn,
with garments ripped and torn,
each bearing a pail of memories.
Looking at them I realize they
are part of me.
I give them love,
wash their faces and clean
their shoes, but these things
are not enough and will not do
.
They respond –
“Please, we are tired and would
find peace and rest. Letting
go of your anxious thoughts
would be best.”
I now see, these children I
have ignored, have been with
me through life’s difficult tests.
Now it is time, as they ask, to
let them rest.
Donna's Poetry Blog 