On this All Hallows eve, I sit in silence,
A cup of tea in hand, the air growing still,
And feel them with me, close and kind,
In the pieces of life that they left behind.
Paintings on walls, bold and soft,
Colors that echo their inspired touch,
Old records crackling from years ago,
Their melodies a bridge across the dark.
A cookbook worn from my grandpa’s hand,
Grandma’s wooden spoon, sturdy, old as roots,
Guiding my hands with each stir and slice,
Passed down through kitchens and love alike.
Drawings of pets, fur and feather,
Creatures once loved, remembered here,
Beside the photos of faces, familiar, dear,
Their laughter softened, still ringing clear.
The lamp’s warm glow, mother-in-law’s favorite,
Next to a candlestick that lit grandma’s nights,
Mason jars repeatedly filled with a century’s worth of harvest.
Books read first by eyes now closed,
Their pages worn, their words still known,
Each object a whisper, a heartbeat, a breath
A touchstone of love that transcends death.
Tonight, in silence, we share this room
A gentle communion of things well-loved,
Where echoes and warmth weave and stay,
As I honor them all in my quiet way.
