Everybody’s at the table,
everyone we knew, once loved.
Though their chairs look barren, empty,
their spirits sit with us to dine.
None of them will eat a morsel . . .
some keep their eyes shut all the time
as mem’ries, jokes, are passed around.
Everybody’s at the table;
they came to comfort . . . walk life’s beat.

Everybody’s got a story . . .
some tell it hearty, gustily.
They’re adorned in robes or street clothes
but their footfalls now are soundless.
Everybody knows each other
and know who loved whom the best.
Some stories bring cascading tears--
mem’ries replayed in color.
Everybody’s got a story . . .
at the round table of our lives.

Everybody’s at the table,
regardless of place, we say grace.
We will miss them at the next meal
‘cause some of them will choose to pass
as their ‘reward’ is coming fast.
Hold the rolls, memories appeal
with yesterday’s mistakes and jokes.
What a joy to see their faces.
Everybody’s at the table . . .
when loved one’s live within our hearts.

copyright 2003 Sandra S. Corona from my book, Wings