Flying past fields of yellow grass,
I remember our old lady in Granite Shoals:
I glimpsed a picture when she was a lass,
Sweet smile and eyes warm like hearth coals.
Now old, skinny skinny gray-haired ma’am,
She passed thru those tight twists of a full Life.
Now done with all sorrow and pain—
She left today, and is free from all such strife.
Our regular visits every Wednesday—
Now, thankfully, she’s out of her pain.
What will I do with those afternoons
When I can never see her again?
I seem to be a medical social worker:
I work with the dying and the surely gonna go.
I understand some about families and some processes—
When it gets easier, I’ll try to let you know.
To home, passing those fields of yellowed grass,
Granite Shoals summers beat down most hard.
Fare-thee-well: your angels have called you home, Ma’am.
Twas an honor knowing you and I’m not ready to sign your card.