 November’s cold has come round again But no more family gatherings Will be held at the Harden home. Time has taken a heavy toll. No more will we hear Aunt Jackie’s Joyful laughter rippling from her smiling Lips. No more will we see the calm Serenity of Uncle Lance’s face. The gruff silence of Uncle Ken could be Intimidating, but more shy was he Than stern. Aunt Norine was our never- Tiring hostess, ever-busy With the kitchen and endless laundry. Granddad Art and Claire, his Yankee second wife, Could be awkward, but we loved them all-alike. Cousins of every age filled their hollow legs With mounds of lemon squares and pumpkin bread And enjoyed the boisterousness of youth. Before Great Grandmother Garlington, our heads Each we bowed, by age and virtue consecrated. Outside, a cold wind blew in the dry grass. New pecans, pressed together in the palm, Yielded their meat for our food as we walked Quietly along, gifts of the naked Limbs suspended above us. And the bristling Half-wolf Riggs gave us all a frightening Greeting when we returned to the ranch. Youthful days are gone; many kin have passed. The Harden house is mostly empty now. And the soul begins to think more Of reunion in the heavenly home Than of memories of meetings past.
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