more poetry by Carol Abbott

On the cliff trail, there's a softness to the air.
A tiny whispering breeze teases at my hair.
At the overlook, you reach for my hand, and we share
a moment in time. Together.

We've hiked through the sunbright day
Always walking in the light. Now the brightness
is damping down. Twilight fades toward the night.
I turn for a glance at your face. Contentment.

I clasp at your hand, wanting to hold on to this time.
As ever, afraid of change. Terrified to climb
farther along this path we have shared.
Can we retain the passion we have felt? Together?

Stars wink to life over our heads. The breeze
freshens and I am suddenly chilled. I lean back for
You to wrap me in your warmth. And I know.
Contentment will remain, as we will. Together.

The Gold Locket
. . . . . by Carol Abbott© July, 2003

Presented to new baby Rose, but one day past her birth
by a dotting, proud new grandpapa.
It was worn round her neck
when she was a child.
Inside a picture: of
Mama, Daddy & Rose.
Daddy smiling, Mama
beaming down at baby Rose
who squinted into the sun--
smiling, too.
(and if you looked closely
much to Rose's chagrin, there was drool
plainly seen on her chin)

Worn on a ribbon of
satin so blue. She wore
it on Sundays, to Sunday School.
Always on her Birthday,
and on special occasions
like Christmas Day, too.

When she was a teen
the ribbon was changed
to a long golden chain
that could be tucked secret away
inside her chemise, next to her heart.
The picture changed, too:
To a tall brooding boy squinting
into the sun. Robbie was his name.

Rose wore her locket
on High School graduation day.
Proud it lay 'gainst her robes.
The picture had also changed: Now
A young man in uniform squinting
into the sun.
Robert was going to the war.

In those years of great strife
Rose seemed to spend half her life
reading Rob's letters, which she tied with
a blue ribbon bow.
And in the nights, she sometimes cried
and prayed that God would bring her
Robbie safe home.

Robert did stay safe, due in part, I am sure,
to Rose's prayers and the promises she wrote to him.
And finally war ended and he was allowed
to come back home to them.
and again the picture in the locket
was changed: to one of
Rose, radiant in white, handsome Robert
towering next to her. They stood to pose beneath the Oak
in the side yard at their new home
on the day they were wed.

Many years went rushing by, living a life that held
fully a million and one memories.
And now, with silver streaks in gray hair,
Rose sits in a chair, shaded by that very same tree.
Her first 2-times-great-grandchild plays on the grass by her feet.
While Rose harkens back through those old memories.
Looking down at a gold locket as old as herself,
at a picture of two young lovers just beginning a life
so full of hope..... Promises made and promises kept.
Their Promises to each other faithfully fulfilled.

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