Just a Little Time
This post may seem rambling; I don't care. We're only here a little time. A dot, a dash, a line. Eighty or ninety summers, falls, and springs Eighty or 90 times to smell the flowers bloom. Some get less. Some hardly any. It's not enough somehow 80 or 90 Christmases, 80 or 90 Easters 80 or 90 winters to snuggle and drink a cocoa or sip warm tea 80 or 90 Then we become memories in a box somewhere Our stuff given away Our cake pans that made children's birthday cakes, tossed They're not usable now. The apron that wiped tears no longer has an owner. Give it away. That dress that was worn for years so the kids could have new shoes is tattered. The drawing she kept of handprints...whose it is? Only she would know. Toss it all We become memories, then old tales People aren't even sure what our names were Can't remember us, just knew we were born around such-and-such We're discovered when someone dies or moves, when an attic is cleaned Out come our images, an