Nature's Heartache Becomes a Heartbeat



The waves' rhythm is spoken gently,
and the wind whispers softly.

Fields of wheat flow to the beat instinctively,
and our lane becomes alive with vitality.

Her voice I often strain to hear,
and then sometimes I see her in the mirror.

The earth is always giving life,
and it knows that we will soon be the bridegroom's wife.

She was the personification of elegance and grace,
and in her heart each had an exclusive place.

The grass and the herb reaches for attention,
and the cycle of life goes on without mention.

These bonds of friendship can never be broken,
and acts of unconditional love are rarely spoken.

The gardens tell of their first love,
and the heavens know secrets of that one above.

You know I will always be with you,
and I hear your heart beat again too.

Love and beauty is all around us to hear,
and for that reason, I know you're near.

Dearest Mom hold my hand with all your might,
and let us wait now for the morning light.

We will finally walk barefoot in the sands,
and honor the one with the nail prints in His hands.

Finches flutter ever faintly,
and the pine sways quietly.

Together we will hear the waves' rhythm spoken so gently,
and we will hear the wind whispering so softly.

Johnna, 1/18/99

I would welcome any support. Please Email me.


You can send email to Johnna at: [email protected]
mail welcome

anniversary date 6-24-98
date of post 3-12-99

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Crisis, Grief, and Healing: Tom Golden LCSW
Johnna , 33, writes poem for her mother who died of cancer.