A Race to the Mailbox

                                       

            A Race to the Mailbox

What is that memory I may claim as my own?
A moment frozen in time, a bust sculpted of stone.

A symbol of love & trust, of gently melting tears;
One of time-tested worth, to allay every fear.

A jewel beyond measure of any earthly sum;
Measured only in devotion & the love of a son.

You are that memory, seared into my heart;
A life filled w/ beauty, kindness as your art.

Broken tunes hummed as a child’s lullaby;
To life’s refuge come to restore every cry.

An eloquent cadence, the music of your day;
A noble light, your life, to lead the lost one’s way.

In silky modulation you sing your life to me;
The sweet resounding notes, to my soul, the key.

The key to something beautiful, to everything I am;
Without your loving guidance, I could never be a man.

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The title alludes to a game my Mom & I would play
when I was very young. This poem only hints at the
blessings I've enjoyed from such a wonderful relationship
with a wonderful mother & friend.