A Poet's Lullaby and Bed Time Story

like,

when I was younger,

I remember my older sister

who would read this one particular

story,

in a soft voice to me.

I don't remember the specifics,

I can't remember them,

and most stories have a hero,

to save the day.

I can't recall if that one did.

But sometimes,

when I was alone,

when I sang,

and could do so confidently,

I could remember her soft voice,

and mine sounded just like that,

just like hers.

and her's was a source of comfort,

one I tried

and tried

and tried

and tried to remember.

but all I remember is how peaceful,

how soft her lovely voice was,

and the memory is my wordless

lullaby as I drift off.