An empty room, an empty chair.
Recall to me the occupant
although she is no longer there.
In my minds eyes I see my aunt.
The family historian.
She knew much more than she would tell.
Knew when to speak when to abstain.
She kept the family secrets well.
I used to love to visit her
and listen to the tales she told
of her young days and how thing were
. In those far distant days of old.
Now she is gone, she was the last
who knew the secrets of the past.
ivor or ivor.e hogg
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mary-harriet/
