A Requiem For The Lost

An ethereal wisp that penetrates us.
A breath of a whisper we strain to hear.
The essence that remains touches us like
breezes in fields of bloom.

In passing they mean not to leave behind gloom,
but a celebration of life lived and savored.
Their gifts are not tangible things, yet they are there;
Embracing us,
Warming us,
Lifting us.

It is the echo of laughter over a dumb joke,
a sigh of relief after a hard day's work.
It is a phantom scent of tobacco or a favorite
perfume; recollection of meals shared.

In passing they leave us something we will always cherish,
a rich reserve of treasured moments and of
kindness and love.

Mourn not the absence of the physical being and always
reflect on that what transcends.
Trust that what has been passed to us becomes a part
of us.

In our remembrance of them, their gifts keep giving.


Angela Theresa Pitt