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.