She was never sweet, no shrinking violet,
But she was beautiful.
She was strong,
But without brutality, only humanity.
She was funny,
Not funny, ha ha … but funny infectious.
Could cause the giggles.
She was generous,
Even to the undeserving.
She was responsible,
Mainly for others, whenever in need.
No questions asked, just love delivered.
Most of all,
She was a woman you would want to encounter,
For each time you did,
Something memorable happened.
You noticed how love could be spread,
Not just in words, but in actions.
Talked with her heart,
Listened with her soul,
Acted in unselfish love.
And left a little in all of us.
The door is closed, but not locked,
Keeping the cold wind out,
But ever ready to welcome any traveler,
Who needs to come in from the cold.
And be greeted with food for body and soul.
A lonely Saltbox sits atop of the high ground,
Peaking out towards the path,
While brings family and friends to its door.
Meanwhile fires are stoked and food prepared in a kitchen stocked with food and love,
Ready for a time when walls will snuggle the occupants,
And smother them in love.
Waiting now for the inevitable,
The road passes directly by the house in shadows,
Hastily boarded up in expectation of a red force marching this way.
While a youngster with a whistle beckons death,
Once faint, now with a discernable tune,
Hunting muskets, long since used,
Become ready for perhaps the last time.
As dread is swallowed hard,
To be digested by courage.
Not of my lonesome soul,
Only engaged in a moment of now,
With brakes almost fully applied,
In a slow-motion exercise,
Grasping each stalk of grass,
Or thistle, or blade carefully.
Thereby avoiding damage,
To its essence or my body.
Until transformed into something which matters to me.
She tells all with a glance,
Waiting for the visitor,
She tells all with those tired eyes,
My family loves me,
She tells all of life,
My gifted journey belies this face,
She tells all while waiting.
For the visitor who always shows,
And loves her constantly.