Heavy is the hand that holds
The cool hard marble stone
In its surface there is shows
Each path traveled, battle won
In her mien no joy is there
For all the victories
Just a quiet grim affair
Between her and memory
Once the halls thronged with those
Who called this place their home
Now dusty cobwebs spiders crawl
Unstirred by any wind
She sets the memories aside
Graven in each wizened line
Turns again to face again
A quiet day of reflection
In this convent of her mind
My Gifted Life 