Adirondack lady
blankets at the ready
cool evenings to come.
She sits surrounded by woods
lulled by the sound of loons,
listening, smiling with Joe.
Memories seem to visit her lately.
Their early parenting days
punctuated by laughter and love.
She waits now, expectantly,
their child’s mothering days
soon to begin.
Time passes by, disappears,
inexorably moving forward.
Generations born and tendered.
One certainty
in these unpredictable times,
this new little one
will be born into a world of love.
lillian the home poet 