And walked among the graves
Of family and friends from long ago
Whose memory had begun to fade.
As were my thoughts of them
When a vision of the ages past
Brought back my sense of kin.
The vision showed the church lawn
On a crisp summer day
The table spread, the food prepared
And friends who would break bread.
both young and old
Grandma and I walked hand and hand
Sharing stories never told.
We laughed and cried
And shared our thoughts
And I found the friend
I thought I'd lost.
As the sun began to fade . . .
The church bell rang out clear
Grandma and the others
slowly disappeared . . .
And now the memory is strong
Of the family from which I came . . .
by Pat Conner Rice
