Are You There?
by Diane Robertson
Misty breeze wraps about my shoulders, thinly clad.
I shiver not, despite the coolness on my skin.
Comfort, I now feel.
Is it you my precious Angel?
Are you there? I cannot hear your quiet voice,
But bird song fills the air
From high treetops to grassy marsh.
I wonder – is it you, Dear? Are you there?
The roses in your garden bloom large,
And varied in hue from crimson deep, to barely pink.
I cup the velvet bud, its fragrance soothes a troubled mind.
This must be you, my little girl. Are you there?
Are you the fiery autumn maples,
Or the star-like flakes of snow?
Are you the sparkle in the water of the lake that we both loved,
Or, perhaps, the warmth I feel in the sand beneath my toes?
Though your quiet voice I cannot hear,
Nor can I see again your sparkling eyes,
Or feel your dainty hand laid gently on my own,
You are here.
For memory's book will never close –
Each lovely sound, or sight, or scent,
Another page from special times that we have shared.
Oh, yes! You are here child – everywhere!
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