Faint is the memory
that can be traced back to the
younger years of childhood.
And Like a whisper of a thought;
Like the remnant of a gentle touch,
the thought is there but fleeting.
The recollection of the sweet fragrance
Of a well cooked meal
Due to be served at half past twelve
Will always brush the chill away
And sting the heavy-hearted.
Some might not want to remember,
the constant trembling of your hands,
the involuntary shudder that racked your body
within the weaker days.
The sudden frailty; the shocking vulnerability.
But it is that that remains etched in my mind.
Eyes as wide as that of a child,
Sweeping across the crowded corner of visitors,
Taking in every moment with slow apprehension.
Eyes that spoke more words,
Than the quivering lips would utter.
And a strength that the body could no longer muster
Echoed within your gentle eyes.
The morning; That morning the petals fell,
But its fiery vibrant color;
The memory of its color will never fade away.