Memories are with me night and day,
But the ones that means the most to me,
Wherever I go, are those of my family?
And always known must leave for others to see.
I count the months and they turned into days,
I count the days and they turned into weeks,
I count the weeks and they turned into minutes,
Each time I count the memories; there are more intrigues.
From the color of clothes adorn and meekly worn,
To hay high grass frolicking in the garden,
We hide in postural shade from the burning sun,
And roll and play beneath the rustling green.
Looking up into the sky at lights deeper than dept,
And wishing upon a star for a new fond dream,
To come true with virtue clean enough to sweep,
Our hopes so high, we could look down from heaven.
Through the worlds we gaze hoping to find,
Love in summer, and pleasure wrap up warm in winter,
Within the memories which pierce our mind,
Are those we love more than what we remember.
Gerry Legister's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Family memories by Gerry Legister )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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