A Poem Without a Title
A tribute to my home, so dear,
where memories bloom and disappear.
Jesus watches the youth, blessing the mild,
his presence is felt by every child.
Education gives luster to the soul,
a flower among flowers, making us whole.
Felicitation for the paths we choose,
in every victory, in every bruise.
Goodbye to labor, to sweat and tears—
memories of my home through all the years.
My last thought— a quiet retreat,
where peace and love in stillness meet.
Oh Mother of this wanderer, guide me on,
through winding roads until the dawn.
The last poem they ask me for
is written in the spaces of life’s lore.
To my— to the flowers that fade away,
to the youth who will carry the day.
This poem may have no title, true,
but it lives in the hearts of me and you.
WoPoLi 
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