Sonnet for Mary

 

 

 

The years take toll of all our yesterdays,

Erasing from the slate of memory

The record of our youth; but yet to me

One portion is inviolate and stays

Untouched by time. As long as I may live,

I’ll not forget a narrow stretch of beach

Where ocean fingers fumbled forth to reach

The white and tumbled dunes; where, sensitive

To wind’s caress upon my face, I went

Along the sand, made magic by the foam,

Toward the waiting welcome of a home

In which I found the meaning of content.

Those things are constant, limitless and true;

As constant as remembered love for you.

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2004 Robbins Keith Fowler