Gone like the snow in the summer,
His voice rings through my ears.
Tales of love and tales of sorrow,
Tales that will always reappear.
As I remember him,
And all that he was,
The good and the bad,
The soft and the sweet,
His cherubs call him to them.
His lovely bones
burn into my etch-a-sketch mind,
and are back again, but erase,
with one shake of the tile.
Touches that will never be,
Eyes that will never see,
And hearts that will always ache.
His lovely bones are still there,
Still burdened, still bare,
The love he shared still deep,
Still real, still alive.
His lovely bones still white as snow,
That falls in the winter and melts in the spring.
My arms still yearn, my eyes still wet,
But as I go through life, I see two sets of footsteps,
One his, one mine.
But during troubled times I see only one set of footprints.
And that is when I know,
He has carried me.