I wrote this poem several years ago when my sister and I sojourned back East to scatter our mother’s and father’s ashes in New Hampshire, Vermont and Maine.
Sitting on the porch at my cousin Pat’s house,
Listening to the leaves fall,
I see my mother’s face.
Watching the leaves drift lazily to the ground,
Softly carpeting the forest floor,
I remember my mother’s smile.
My mother has been returned to the earth,
Back to the fertile soil
Of New England where she was born.
So, I have only memories and falling leaves,
Autumn leaves of red and gold,
To hold precious in my heart.