At five, “A shepherdess” I told him

For the tender lamb of my bedtime poem,

The freedom of the meadows and valleys,

The gentle pace and active, hard work.

 

At fifteen, “An actress” I replied

For the thrill of self-discovery and

My commanding voice carrying to the back wall

Where I connected with last row’s quietest people.

 

“A world traveler” at twenty-five

I had journeyed half a world away

And fallen in love with the people among castles,

Fountains, windmills, and castanets.

 

As my brother grew sick, I again found the beauty of home

Revisiting our memories in bus rides,

Childhood swings, and climbed trees

Before the final goodbye.

At thirty-five I knew the desire of wanting

Time to stop.

Time to grow.

Time to discover, laugh, dream, bicker, cry, giggle, and share deepest delight

Just one more time.

 

At forty-five, I asked for “grace and peace”

In the moments of quietly sitting, holding hands,

Humming songs, and thanking my father then my best friend

For our time together, the blessings they had been.

 

Now at fifty, a shepherdess’ steadfast protection over gentle ones appeals to me.

Teaching for a lifetime, can my voice carry to that student in the last row?

Spanish coasts and mountains beckon me to a pilgrimage.

Beyond any outward journey, though, I most yearn for one moment more with those I love.