At Ninety-five
Gracefully she perches
at the top of our tree
Imploring us upward,
onward with her love
Smelling of sweet perfume,
skin only softened by the years
We reach up toward her
Climbing the branches to smell her,
touch her,
hear her voice
Her songs are a comfort
A familiar tune that humors us
and brings us much joy
We listen intently to the well known melody
Her nest is a treasure
filled with a history of priceless jewels
Gathering what we can
we fill our hands, holding on tightly
We are drawn to the comfort and warmth
found under her wings
She is cherished
She is loved.
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