On the wings of fancy,
I travelled to Paradise,
Adventured in Arabia,
Climbed Olympus
And sparkled in fairy dust-
Timeless gifts
Of untold pleasures,
More precious
Than diadems and gems-
All showered from one
Whose voice is a memory
And whose gentle smile
Is pressed between pages
Of pensive recollections.
I stood in front of a name
Etched on the wall of monuments
And the face swam in front
Of eyes swimming in tears
And yearning for a look, a voice,
Or a smile!
I could not raise a sound
To pay homage to that voice
That stilled for our times;
My eyes could not open
To see those eyes bent in kindness
And the smile that blossmed
Perpetually, never wavering,
Never skewed in complaint,
Always taking in the arrows
Shot by life’s crossfire
It is the benefice
And benediction
Of my todays!
RosyView 
I can see Annie, who read to you or told you stories when you were young and who is no longer with you… ….an older sister, cousin, a teacher perhaps/? Liz
What a beautiful poem about loss and grief. I love the imagery of how you were able to travel a visit places far away through Annie’s stories. I also love the strength you portray in her ability to take in the arrows that life shot her way. She seems like a remarkable woman who left an indelible mark on your life. We should all be so lucky to have Annie’s in our lives!
Thank you. That was my oldest sister. I have a poem for every sist9er I lost. I lost four.