Grand Mother

I write one poem for my grand mother everytime she visits. This is one of those poems.

In summer's rain we look out into the fields,
watching the puddles gather rain, each drop
becoming a ripple, spreading outward.

We watch the wind turn the leaves,
as they swish and sway with rhythm
to their chattering of branches.

Somewhere birds sing as they splash
about in a murmur of water,
bathing in the long awaited dribble.

And today our thoughts flip through
photo albums of memories.  Re-calling an
old time when life was simple.

We drink from the puddles of life,
with understanding.  Each delicate sip
telling a different story.

As we come to the crossroads, we become
wiser.  Our choices are truthful and just.
And our journey begins again.

Together our souls become an alliance,
dancing in the rain.  Warm beakins to
the hopes we so desire.

You have Guided us, given to us, taught us,
and touched us in more ways then one.
You are a cul-de-sac of love, gentle as the rain,
kind as the birds, and a spirit of warmth in your heart.