I hesitate, as I step through the doors
that shelter our forgotten treasures.
When we aren�t sure what to do,
sometimes we shut people away and forget.
Walking down the hall,
I pass by the tasteful flower arrangements,
the cozy little corners to sit and talk,
with all the latest fashion magazines.
She is standing outside her room,
clutching her frayed housecoat together.
Looking frail and tiny,
she lives in her world of make believe.
She places a object in my hands.
Lovingly, she has painted it, missing a few places.
A box of gold on embossed cardboard,
it is filled with violet and white flowers
�I made it just for you,� she whispers
�I remember your bedroom is violet.�
It is rose, I am thinking.
Like the color on your sweet cheeks.
Her smile is fragile,
any unkind word can break it..
I feel the tears in my eyes and remember
my children�s handmade ornaments
This is a world of gentle and brave souls.
Some are wearing bibs and diapers.
I humbly watch a true gentleman
gently wipe a lady�s quivering mouth.
These were our trusted Judges and juries.
Healing physicians and bright scientists.
Skilled carpenters and heroic soldiers.
Teachers, musicians, and artists of lasting beauty.
These are our libraries of knowledge.
Keepers of legacies.
Pillars of wisdom.
And lovers of Life.
Lord, these are your best and brightest
You alone know the worth of each soul.
As they walk through the doors of your mansion.
We will miss them much more then we know.
.
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