Poems by Pat Fleming

There once was a woman
Who grew old with time.
She bore her life story
In the curve of her spine.

In the lines and the creases
Of her warm, weathered face
Lay those long nights of worry
And those arduous days.

In her pale, veiny hands,
Once so nimble and strong,
Rested remnants of hard work
And a deftness now gone.

She displayed her life's losses
In her dull, woesome eyes
And a heart often wounded
But well-lived and wise.

She was a doddering soul
With her sore, swollen feet
That could once trek for miles
And never grow weak.

Her voice was a whisper
Between shallow, strained breaths.
But she still told her tales
So she'd never forget.

Around her sweet smile
Were deep, puckered lines
From those smiles she shared
Through both good and bad times.

Now she sits on her porch
For hours each day.
In the brightest of sunshine
Or the heaviest rains.

Her head slips to her chest
As she drifts off to sleep,
Lost in her memories
And impossible dreams.

A tap on her shoulder
And she's now wide awake,
And there in her sights
Is that fresh little face!

"Grandma, it's me,
How are you today?"
And with those sweet words,
All the time fades away.

In those bright joyful eyes
Was her reason to be.
She was her will to go on
And her heart's steady beat.

She was her hope for tomorrow
And her wish for today.
She was that part of herself
That would not die away!

She was now all grown up
And all on her own.
In those deep moments of thought
And feeling alone.

She'd think of that old woman
Who had been her best friend
And she longed every day
To see her again.

She was that part of her soul
That still guided her way
And that love in her heart
That would not die away!

Time passes all so quickly,
Moments melting into years.
It's true, time waits for no one,
And the end is always near.

We live a life so tenuous,
So easily it's gone.
And no matter what we each endure,
Time keeps marching on.

We take refuge in the moment,
And we cling to every day.
We pretend it's all forever,
Just to keep the end at bay.

We hearken back to childhood,
When the world was filled with treasures,
And our lives and what the future held
Was beyond what we could measure.

When our family was our everything,
There was still no place like home.
And with our best friends by our sides,
We came into our own.

And though we took our private paths,
We all have kept in mind
That in life our greatest struggle
Is our battle against time.

Will we get to know what true love is?
Will we have the things we need?
Will we conquer all our greatest fears?
Will we fail or will we succeed?

And then as we grow older,
And the future shrinks away,
Our lives become more memories
And less about today.

We share our wisdom and our hope
With the children in our lives,
And say good-bye to those we loved,
Who once stood by our side.

But there's a peace in growing old,
As time becomes more dear.
And who we are and why we're here
Becomes so crystal clear.

And we see time is not the enemy,
But how that time was lived.
And if we took all that we could,
Or gave all that we could give.

For in our final hours,
As our time begins to wane.
The goodness that our soul's bestowed,
Is all that shall remain.

Seven AM and I sat at the light,
Watching the train chugging by.
A day like the rest, on the way to my job,
Just routine with no feeling inside.

The morning was frigid and snowy,
Just thinking how cold he must be.
But there I could see him wrapped up on the stoop,
In that blanket he found on the street.

That cold, concrete stoop, at that old, empty store,
The place that for years he called home.
He sat there each day, never meeting your eyes,
Just contented to be left alone.

The weeds by the tracks were his bathroom,
His food was a bottle of wine.
His clothes were all dirty and tattered.
He was drunk or passed out all the time.

To see him you'd think he was no one.
He was barely a man anymore.
A failure to the ones who once loved him,
And a burden to the rest of the world.

But those who once knew him in the days long gone by
Would tell you how wrong you would be.
For in fact, it's quite true that this lost, broken soul
Was once just like you and like me.

He woke up every morning in a home of his own
That he shared with his son and his wife.
He worked every day as a painter by trade
And thanked God every night for his life.

People who watched him admired his ways.
He was caring and decent and good.
He worked harder than most to provide for his son,
And for neighbors he did what he could.

Life was a struggle, and times could be bad,
But he always found strength to go on.
He wanted the best for the people he loved,
Never dreaming that soon they'd be gone.

It happened in winter on a dark, snowy day,
In a storm that had moved in quite fast
That his wife ventured forth to pick up their son,
And neither survived when they crashed.

From the day they were buried his friends rallied round,
But he was lost despite how much they tried.
And even today when they speak of him still,
They say it's as if they all died.

And when I last sat at that light, by that stoop,
I saw he was no longer there.
The store still sat empty and was now boarded up,
And I wondered if anyone cared.

But later I learned on that stoop where he lived,
That place that he once made his home
He too passed away on one cold winter's day,
Long forgotten and left quite alone.

So should you pass by a lost soul such as this,
Be careful how harshly you judge him.
For you can't ever know how loved he once was,
Or how valued his life may have been.

He grew up in a town where people were poor,
In a family quite wealthy with love.
He was raised by two parents who were stable but strict
And taught him to trust God above.

The days of his youth were like everyone else,
Filled with both good times and bad.
But he learned to look forward and follow his dreams
And be grateful for all that he had.

And then at 19, it was time to escape
From the shelter and safety of home.
So he went off to the Navy in search of himself
And to finally stand up on his own.

When tragedy struck and his ship was destroyed,
Torpedoed and lost to the sea,
He learned just how quickly his whole world could change
And how frightening and short life could be.

So when he returned to family and home,
He found where his future now lied,
And he studied and worked and had children,
With the love of his life by his side.
           
And the rest, as they say, is just history,
But my story all started with him.
He raised me and loved me and taught me what's right,
And I hold him forever within.

The man I've described is my father,
A man of whom I feel so proud.
He was loving, and honest, and decent,
And his humor brought sunshine through clouds.

And it's true that today he's no longer with me.
His laughter and hugs are now gone,
But my deep love for him remains in my heart,
And his memory forever lives on.

But I hope from the heavens he still could look down,
And I hope through the years he could see
Just how hard I have strived to be just like him,
So he could still feel proud of me.