My Mother’s Touch
By Jill Leach- Klajic
Too soon the house was emptied and everyone was gone.
Lingering, I scanned the room for some sign that might be left.
There on the bedside table was a pair of forgotten gloves.
Shaking my head, I wondered aloud, “ How did we miss her favorite gloves?”
The smell of her perfume was caught, held forever in the frayed wool threads.
“ Weren’t they bigger?” I remembered, holding them to my cheek.
Slowly, I slid my icy hand into the old brown knitting.
The fingers were molded. “A perfect fit.” I felt Mother’s touch.
I held the tattered old gloves close to my heart.
It was true. I will not hear her voice or see her gentle face, nor would I again ever find solace there beside her rocking chair.
Yet as I walk down this lonely path, I know, I will never be alone, for I will always carry in my heart, the love in my, " Mother’s Touch."
By Jill Klajic-Ryan
My love is a soul I have always known, a guardian and a friend of my own
My love is a wall to bounce my dreams from, a gentle word that dries my tears
My love is a treasure for me to hold, a mirror that reflects my soul
My love is a shadow that stands tall, a soft net for whenever I fall
My love is comfortable and warm; He helps me be better at me
He is a true gift from God to my heart, which I shall keep, even though we part
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