As children,
we saw the gray in their hair and the smiling lines at their eyes.
Did we look closely at their weathered hands
and truly understand the labor of their lives
and the goodness of their hearts? We sat with them
as they enjoyed the stillness of an autumn sunset;
We listened
to the songs they sang to us and the stories they told.
Did we ask,
"Who were your parents?"
"What work did you do?"
"Where did you go to school?"
All curious questions then,
and we strain now to remember the replies.
Their spirit still lingers in our being,
their long silent voices still echo
upon the rediscovery of a memento
in a dusty box, and it is these
cherished memories
that we save for ourselves and for our children.
Shirley Pawlowski, 2002
we saw the gray in their hair and the smiling lines at their eyes.
Did we look closely at their weathered hands
and truly understand the labor of their lives
and the goodness of their hearts? We sat with them
as they enjoyed the stillness of an autumn sunset;
We listened
to the songs they sang to us and the stories they told.
Did we ask,
"Who were your parents?"
"What work did you do?"
"Where did you go to school?"
All curious questions then,
and we strain now to remember the replies.
Their spirit still lingers in our being,
their long silent voices still echo
upon the rediscovery of a memento
in a dusty box, and it is these
cherished memories
that we save for ourselves and for our children.
Shirley Pawlowski, 2002