G
She did not drive.
She lived in her house
And in the garden.
We came, we clung
We counted on her
And ignored her.
She built a quiet world
Grace and peace,
A tender quiet.
The voice that never rose
Speaks now, tells,
Reverberates.
Contentment
In hard effort
A ringing lesson.
7 thoughts on "G"
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Lovely, Rona!
The concise syntax suggests the person you’re describing.
This is a subtle tribute to the person encased within these words.
Yes.
I can identify so well with this poem. Thank you!
Contentment:
follow its arc
to tender quiet.
You all are sweet and beautiful readers and poets.