There was not much there for her to
A bit of lore.
A song no one had sung
Handwritten maps of forest paths
That others were likely yet to
A man’s sweater someone must have left
Assorted photos of odd things,
Like stumps of trees
And feathers that her favorite cat would
There was not much for her to
But what she had,
All could concede,
She loved and therefore
Of life well-lived.
For Sammi‘s Weekend Writing Prompt: Bequeath in 85 words
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