To Anne Crawford

Here I am, being held by my Great Aunt Anne,

sheltered in igloo inside a michigan snow land.

I actually did not know she existed

until this Souvenir of hers I was gifted

By her nephew, my grandfather, I was made aware

of her artistic soul, verse and drawings so fair.

I walk to this igloo with Anne at my side,

seeing snow balancing, then falling in time.

I wonder how she’d poeticize this stroll of mine?

Which road she’d take with Margo, under oak or pine.

Inside my purse and then in my hands,

through her words she lives in these lands.

The angel of her lingers, bringing such bliss,

I imagine her lending me a hug and a kiss.

So thank you Anne, for your sweet poetry,

it’s been passed along and is now holding me.