What do you see when you enter this place?
The signs of loss, a slower pace.
But each one has something that nothing can take
A wealth of memories that took a lifetime to make.

A mother remembers the children she had
The beautiful babies, their proud young dad.
The girls in their beauty, the boys straight and tall
Watching them grow, loving them all.

The dinners she cooked, the socks she knit
All the hard work, never minded a bit.
Cleaning the house, washing the clothes
Busy all day, no time for repose.

Picking berries up on the hill
In golden September with the air so still.
Filling the buckets up to the brim
With Mary and Bill, Joe and young Jim.

The old man remembers his days on the sea
Catching the fish, a mug up of tea.
The sight now dim, but eyes blue as ever
That scanned the skies for signs of weather

Going into the woods on a winter’s day
With his faithful old pony, he called her May.
Cutting the wood and hauling it home
He had no help, he did it alone.

Back to the house where the fire is bright
The lamps are lit against the dark of night.
The new-baked bread with its wonderful smell
The children are home and all is well.

Some we called Nan or Pop each day
No disrespect, it’s the Newfoundland way.
These terms of endearment we used to our own,
Makes them remember grandchildren now grown.

The children visit, the roles are changed
The pattern of life, now rearranged.
The child is the parent, the parent the child
The bond still there, the love not spoiled.

So they live in their memories of days long past
And when their lives are over at last
May they go to that place where happiness reigns
And all the memories are real again.

Joan Fowler
Torbay, NL