Ode to Joyce
Born from a land of rock and silt,
a tiny bundle of flame and spirit
came into this world,
fists clenched,
ready to take it on.
Mischievous and clever,
a tongue as sharp as her wit,
she made her way,
until one day
she met her match.
Intrigued by his swagger,
his calm confidence,
his arms-crossed leaning,
he was flint to her fire.
And the mystery unfolded
as it was meant,
and she became a mother,
determined to make her children strong.
Their journey began,
following work across the land,
starting new a hundred times,
until finally,
she came HOME to the land of rock and silt,
and planted her roots firmly,
and found her strength doubled overnight.
She was David to Life's Goliath.
And not soon after,
she became a grandmother,
and again a mother,
determined to make her children strong.
The matriarchal fulcrum
to whirling generations,
always providing, lavishing,
tireless
salt of the earth.
Ceaseless headspring,
a torrent of life
has flowed through her.
The candle still burns,
though she returns
to dreams.
3 comments:
the candle still burns,
though she returns
to dreams.
i like that image, charles
What a beautiful poem. I know you all miss her so much. Again I send my condolences.
Love, Joyce
Tell Kyra she did a good job. I'll try and write her a note later. Terry
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