In her "Glory" days . . .

She’d wear her hair tied with a bow

a bit of lipstick applied, just so

some jewelry to accessorize

and she’d stop and chat when passing by.

Had no children of her own

but kept a dog when she was home;

she’d left it in a dear friend’s care

and both would come to visit there.

That was in her glory days

before time stole her memories.

I choose to remember the her of “then”

to see her smiling face again:

upon her lap, her dear pup lies–

there’s no more sadness in her eyes.

We each have our own cross to bear

a twisted path from here to there,

we do our best because we must

before we fall apart and rust.

I believe when this life’s done-

that a new one is begun—

a place we shall meet again...

until then, rest in peace, my friend.

© Ginny Brannan 2019

*Image: Google images. Representative for depiction only, not actual subject of poem.