Personal History

Words cannot express
the emotion with which I feel.
Tirelessly considering,
the joy of childhood.
The love of parents
so happy for me.
A coffee sits.
Begging to be sipped. 
While I stare at
our old oak tree. 
The yard as square and cut
as dad kept it all those years.
Mom's aged cook book,
a family classic on the shelf.
Stares at me through dusty binding.
Years have passed.
Alone I tend to my history.
The coffee is getting cold.  

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