Sweeping up the needled tree.
She wonders,
how things seem to be.
She looks out of the window
to the sky.

She takes her rest
upon the chair.
She thinks about
the ones who care
and then about the ones
that cease to be.

And though her world is troubled,
she's still smiling all the same.
Reflecting on the memories,
the ones that keep her sane.

Her eyes upon a photograph.
A memory in time.
She's reading his old poetry
forever lost between the lines.