This is another poem I found folded up in my aunt's little box of special things. She wrote it when her father died. I must admit that I have edited it a bit. Veneta had a habit of avoiding the trappings of grief, and I believe that she would have made the sorts of editorial changes I did here, if this poem had not been such a strong reminder of the loss of her father.
by Veneta Donaldson
Our tears are yours, our grief,
This haunting, calendared day
When one we loved so earnestly
So quietly passed away.
The dearness of your smile,
Cherished throughout our memory;
The strength and beauty of your hands
Will live with us in constancy.
Your step, so eager and so quick
Across the threshold of our time
Brought joy to all our hearts
When we beheld you in your prime.
The firmness of your will,
The self-inflicted discipline,
Were tempered with a gentleness
So rarely found among men.
Our tears are yours, our grief,
For you who left us sad but wise;
A loving memory is ours
It never, never, ever dies.
The next poem in this series can be found here: Impasse.
This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.
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