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Some Songs

He would listen keenly
To his grandmother’s hum,
Which for him was a glow
Like light behind clouds
Illuminating his mental skies.

Her tone and melodies
Would float into the air,
Gripping him by the ears
To face the sunny warmth
Which flowed from her.


He guessed her mood
By the way she would hum,
Having learned early
That how she was feeling
Came out in her tempo.

Her home had been his first,
Until his father sat sadly
In the quiet living room
While trying to explain
How grandmother died.

He didn’t understand
What would happen then
Or why she was gone forever.
None of it made any sense,
But felt dreadful regardless.

The sun never felt the same,
And some songs he heard
After her untimely passing
Would have sounded better
To him if she too could hum.

In the decades since she passed
His memories of her faded,
But her humming came to mind
Clearly in the many instances
When he had needed her there.

Ria 2016

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