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The Windowsill
A memory drifts through time,
I was perched on the window
sill, longing, waiting for
health to release me from this
prison ~ longing, waiting to be
able to go outside, to enjoy
the games my friends were
entangled in ~ watching,
listening, to their delighted
laughter and squeals of joy
The fond memory drifts through
time, winding it's way through
my heart, I feel the warmth,
I embrace it's place, and I
recall with love the windowsill
at grandmothers house.
© Mary Silva
December, 2004