The Time Thief –by J. Bea Young
My Nana lived down a darkened, quiet hall
I tip toe in and stand inside the gloom
Seashells in pastels decorate a wall
A long, former life in an empty room.
Wedding quilt repatched in modern cotton
Folded silently in patient waiting
To be loved again or else forgotten
A soft remembrance of a mind fraying.
Sentinels of perfume bottles yet stand
On vanity‘s jewl’d glass, linger fragrance.
Children, gardens, roses held in gloved hands.
A just woman of wit, faith and patience.
Taking Nana’s measure, time torn apart,
I hold her watch against my gentle heart.