The Stone

There’s a stone that signifies part of my life.

A beautiful slab of granite.

It’s engraved with words of joy and of pain.

And I both love and hate it.

There’s carefully carved writing that says who he was,

and how long he spent with us all.

But because he was grown before I was born

I only knew him since he was tall.

Tall and handsome, a child’s sweet dream.

He was clever and loving and strong.

He tended me through my formative years

and taught me right from wrong.

He was gentle and kind, never used a strong tone

when speaking to anyone.

But his voice is lost to time and space

for he now lies under that stone.

I yearn to go back to my roots again.

Back to when I was a girl.

When spring was in the wide fresh air

and my father was still in my world.

I yearn to go back there again

to the days of my childhood home.

To a time when I wasn’t aware of death

or even knew of that stone.

But time’s what it is and we walk our own path –

the same way, each one alone.

’Til to our great joy, at the end of our mission

we’re all called gently Home

And because he was here before me,

he has gone long before I am due.

And sometimes I feel I’ve been cheated.

A half century of years is too few.

And for now that stone’s one connection to him,

and I sit by it often and talk

of the things I have done and the things I will do

and the path I have had to walk.

I know that he listens, I know that he cares

and I know that his love never died.

For I feel it while I am sitting there.

And when I leave it walks by my side.