Rosemary J. Gwaltney
northern mountains, Idaho
Each time I walk the bitter halls,
And find him held within those walls.
His eyes gone dim still see my face,
He knows my voice, and my embrace...
~ ~ ~
I knew all of my living's years;
In all that time he shed no tears.
My father sturdy as a stone
Has tender grown, has tender grown;
~ ~ ~
Kaleidoscoped into my hand;
Weeks trickling slowly as the sand;
Aware of all, remembering some;
So precious have his days become ...
His time ...
...Living is ever like crossing rivers; finding a new life on each shore ... RJG