In a room of twelve square meters small, Lives a soul who’s seen it all. Eighty-two with stories tall, Children, grands, great ones call. No longer does the garden grow, Nor cakes on countertops show. Yet in her room, the world seems slow, Memories around her flow. Four children once beneath her wing, Now eleven sprouts in spring. Two great blooms, life’s offering, In a small room, she’s still a king. No lavish home or treasures vast, But care and warmth that always last. Blood pressure checked, the meals are cast, In gentle hands, her days are passed. The laughter of the young, once near, Now memories that she holds dear. Some visit close, some far, some never here, In silence, she sheds a tear. Hobbies remain, in books she dives, But soon her eyes, they strive. Loneliness, like a shadow, arrives, Yet in her heart, hope survives. She leads, she reads, to others, she’s a guide, Even when her own company subsides. A friend, a neighbor, by her side, Together sang, before she died. Why do they say life grows long? When solitude feels so strong. Yet, in her heart, where memories belong, She finds the strength to carry on. Photos, memories, her treasure chest, Reminding her of what she loves best. A plea to the future, to never rest, In remembering love’s eternal quest. “Don’t forget,” she softly sighs, “Family’s bond, the strongest ties. Through every hello and goodbye, Love’s echo never dies.” So, from a room, small and bright, A voice whispers into the night. In love and memories, take flight, And hold your loved ones tight. February 16, 2024 Created by MarkWaldrop
