Sisters
When laughing next to her.
What makes her laugh is lost in breath,
Her spirit is feltly pure.
What matters not are years,
For when she speaks of truth,
She radiates her intellect.
Yet her eyes are mirrors of youth.
A masterpiece by birth,
No less an angel brought from hign.
I see in her a magic art,
Of beauty bounties sky.
Life is less a measure,
Of time, of duty right.
When she sleeps in miracles,
Or wakes in perfect light.
Never has there been another,
With an absence of greater miss.
Her love and laugh are memories,
Of a love that surpasses bliss.
My sister.
Melinda Murray
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