January

This is the month that she was born,
Go easy on me, friends ~
I know I'm better,
But it seems
The sorrow never ends.

This is the day that she was born:
It was the 23rd,
She had the most infectious laugh
That you have ever heard!

She was a melancholy
So I'd try to make her smile,
Before long we'd be giggling, but
Sometimes it took awhile.

And how she loved to ponder
All the mysteries down here,
If you'd a problem to be solved
She'd always lend an ear.

There's sorrow in me that she died,
But joy that she was here;
And so much so, I pamper me
This special time of year.

I'll only do the things I want
The things I like to do,
I make it easy on myself
Until this day is through.

She'd understand, she knew my heart,
She'd tell me it's okay
To please myself and no one else
On this one special day.

I'll be alright when this day's gone,
I'll be myself tomorrow ~
But this day's full of memories
Of happiness and sorrow.

This is the month that she was born,
Go easy on me, friends ~
I swear I'm healed,
Although it seems
The sorrow never ends.

--Connie

"...weeping may endure for a night,
but joy cometh in the morning."
(Psalm 30:5 KJV)