All of us are pieces of our past; the people and experiences
Those who once walked in my life
left footprints on a sturdy floor.
They send ripples through my soul,
gentle waves wash upon a shore.
My Grandma, Agnes, died when I was young.
A gentle angel; her legacy, a fun Irish jig.
Like Grandpa’s roses, she was a tender blossom.
She told delightful tales after a little swig.
My Grandpa was gardening at ninety-five.
A favorite memory; his Santa Claus, the Dutch way.
Wooden shoes stuffed with candy and toys.
Laughter filled the house, his belly would shake and sway.
My Dad makes my eyes tear and heart smile.
He was both sturdy and soft.
Broken hearts, he glued back.
I dream he whistles making angel lofts.
My husband for twenty years died,
a good father and friend.
We had two children, lots of joy and love.
Memories outlast a painful parting at the end.
The echoes in my heart are made
by special people that shared my Earthly stay.
They spent some time, left a piece of themselves,
shaping the person that I am today.
By Kathie Stehr