A Small Noel Poem by Granville Holt

It wasn't unusual, it happens
Everyday somewhere in the world. A page
Turned over and over. Our book of sins,
Of triumphs, of dreams, of youth, and old age.
Tears that fall without reason, with a burn,
A sudden déjà vu that leaves no trace
On memory, no warning, while we turn
Aside each word, sound or glance, to find grace.

In hope some meaning will simply appear,
Some solitude be revealed in praying.
As fading footsteps from another year.
As bitter cold warms a soul that's dying.

No epilogue can pen what I must say,
The poem still ends --- Mother died today