Memories

I wonder if the little path
still winds across the sod.
The little narrow, beaten path
where friendly feet have trod.
I wonder if the trumpet vine
and flowering almond tree,
are blossoming along the way
just the way they used to be.

I wonder if small children's feet
are eager still to climb
the old board fence and cut across,
as long ago did mine.
And if the same old kitchen door
is standing open wide,
where eager eyes may catch a glimpse
of Mother's face inside.

Oh, little memories like these
come creeping in betimes
and sing themselves to little tunes
and set themselves to rhymes.
Just haunting little memories
that seem to cling and glide,
the thoughts along to open doors
and Mother's face inside.

Someday, I'll find another path
where friendly feet have trod,
that's leading down the valley road
and o'er the hills to God.
When on these strange eternal shores
the heavenly gates swing wide,
Twill just be "Home Sweet Home" once more
with Mother's face inside.

~ Virgilyn Cummings ~



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