Love After All

I think I have figured it out, 

The secret to life.

It seems so simple,

So, small.

But, oh, is it big,

So very tall.

It is love after all.

It makes the world spin.

It binds up wounds.

Mends broken hearts.

It is love after all.

We search.

We hunt.

We buy.

We grip.

We try to control.

But it is love after all.

It cannot be bought.

It cannot be sold.

It cannot be gripped.

It cannot be controlled.

It is love after all.

It is the gift that keeps on giving.

It is the end, middle, and beginning.

I know I have found it.

The secret to it all.

It is so simple.

It seems so small.

But, my, oh, my,

It is love after all. 

I wrote this poem the night (November 13, 2019) my beloved grandmother, Bonnie Anne, died. I couldn't sleep and the words began forming in my heart and head, so I rolled over and typed them out into the "notes" section on my phone. I am surprised by the ways the words are forming and settling on my heart but am thankful, for they draw me nearer to the One who Created both me and my sweet Bonnie Anne. I am sure I will write about her soon, but for now, I need to hold her memory close to my heart and let the words come when they are ready.

Peace and Blessings to each of you,

Margaret