Diane

I had spoken of you

Just the other day.

Passing the past

On to the present.

Spoke of sleepovers,

Of doing our nails,

Of listening to music,

Of giggling together.

A recent picture had shown

How much like Grandma

You'd grown to be.

Memories linger,

Black hair, just touched with silver.

Not grey, never grey.

Memories taunt,

Sunlit backyards,

Watermelon spitting,

Horseshoe and wiffleball days.

Picking red roses,

Climbing in the front.

Sitting under grapes vines,

Climbing in the back.

Memories we share

As we say goodbye.

 

Middle Age

 
In youth each day dawns new.

A clean slate, a new race to run.

Begin what was forgotten,             

Finish what was yesterday begun.

But now I see the truth.

Each day is one lap in a long race.

I am nearer the end,

Playing an impossible catch up.

Each lap brought hard lessons. 

Every mistake is replayed.

But my eyes are on dusk, a clear view,

Still hoping to fall no further behind.