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I Remember...

A granddaughter speaks of her sweet memories. Forgive me if I've divided my verses incorrectly.

I remember the sweet scent

of my grandmother, ginger and honey,

her long gray braid swaying in the breeze

streams of curling white on a gleaming silver ribbon.

I remember the tiny cabin out in the woods,

a quaint wooden box in the shape of a home;

picture-perfect, a spitting image

of a fairytale house where every dream came true.

I remember the smell of the woods 

and lemonade high in the air

and the profile of singing birds

in the azure banner above us.

I remember picnics during warm afternoons

words spoken against light breezes

that carried our voices away with the bees.

I remember the flowers that watched us laugh 

and swayed in the wind with each of our sighs

how our love melted onto the grass

and fed the soil beneath our feet

and the way I felt as infinite 

as the river that bubbled close by.

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