In Memorium

I Visist Your Grave

Many times I visit your grave,

but I do not go

where the inscribed stone lies

in the grass or the snow.

I visit your grave

when Western music brings

memories of by-gone days.

When at the stock-yard barns

the auctioneer sings.

When deer season opens

and ducks are on southward wings.

When the range cattle are in

with the first snow fall.

When Spring is announced

with the first meadow lark’s call.

When the summer’s warm sun

smiles on the grass standing tall.

When the Christmas holidays

with memories abound.

When the New Year’s bell

rings it’s familiar sound.

When a hard winter leaves

and Spring rolls around.

In so many memories

that are happy and gay –

memories of a prairie home

in an earlier day.

With a heritage of riches

along life’s pleasant way,

I visit your grave.

This poem was written many years ago by my mother, Lillian Burns Weaver, in memory of her older brother, Jeff Burns, who passed away far too young.  Mother was the second of ten children who grew up on a homestead in northern Montana in the early 1900s.

I am posting this poem in memory of both my parents, sister, brother, grandparents, and my aunts and uncles who I thought when I was a little kid,  would live forever.  May they rest in peace.

Blessings to you and yours,  Cookie

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