The Wind

I listened to the wind,
tapping against the window of that old house, 
I let my poem take me where my heart wanted to go. 

I watched the setting sun, 
knowing the ride was over, 
never shed a tear, 
for having had the honor of knowing him, 
and believing I would see him again. 

The wind picked up when we left the church. 
Those sacred words hanging in the air, 
the service of Christian Burial finished, 
all that remained was remembrance, 
the wind carried all out grief.

That wind, 
against the windows of that old house, 
still my soul listens. 

Remeber all you can, 
not in sadness, 
but in hope,
in joy for having known them,
and in pride for being part of their legacy. 

T.S. Deary 
11/8/25