An empty room, an empty chair.
Recall to me the occupant
although she is no longer there.
In my minds eyes I see my aunt.
The family historian.
She knew much more than she would tell.
Knew when to speak when to abstain.
She kept the family secrets well.
I used to love to visit her
and listen to the tales she told
of her young days and how thing were
. In those far distant days of old.
Now she is gone, she was the last
who knew the secrets of the past.
There are so manay things I wish I could have asked my Mother or Father, but somehow at the time they don't seem important. And now......! ! ! ! ! Sad really. I liked this one lots. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
Hi Ivor! A special Aunt, i'm sure she must have shared most of the secrets of the past with you! (10) ! Thad
Ivor: Always a pleasure to see you write, down to earth pen! Sorry to hear about your Aunt Peace Matt
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi ivor, What an interesting, fantastic, poem. I can see your Aunt sitting in her chair, whispering secrets to you. Exceptional poetry......glorious read.....