In Remembrance

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Emily Dickinson referred to it as the hour of lead.
This autumn has been shrouded in that kind of grieving.
My family lost one of its own- twenty seven years in our society-then gone.

Loving-and Beloved, life's partner-brother-son-uncle, we called by name as Jon.

On such a day as this- of family, of giving thanks, of gathering together-to remember him is fitting.

Another chair is empty this year at our table.
A place is set that it will go unused.

Gathering together as we love to do-none loved it more than Jon.
He loved the cooking-and He loved  serving it beautifully-and He did it with great Joy.
It was his gift-and It was bounteous.

These delicates he heap'd with glowing had

On golen dishes and in baskets bright

Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand

In the retired quiet of the night,

Filling the chilly room with perfume light. ~John Keats

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