Preservation

Produce waits for preparation,

Bottles lined up clean and hot.

Knowing that if time eludes me

All of it will waste and rot,

Little voices call behind me

Beckoning to read and play.

Knowing that as time moves forward

Invitations fade away,

I choose to save the fleeting moment,

Leaving bottles empty still.

Fruit will come another season;

Childhood memories never will.

Anna M. Molgard

©2008 Faithsong Publications, L.L.C.

www.faithsongmusic.com

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