Friday, February 21, 2014

For my Aunt Edith who died long before I was born

The stories, restless, may shift owners
My grandmother it will be
Who listened every day to The Lone Ranger
Until the surprising day she didn’t.
Perhaps my father will have danced by the river
Or had his hair turn gray at 19.

There are no stories about Edith
Who died as a baby but time
May bring her some.
One day I may remember
That she had green eyes, or red hair
Or that her sister Rose – or was it Doris?
Once drew a picture of Edith smiling --
A tall young lady in a long dress.

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