A second story needs to be added now.
This past summer, as I helped my parents sort and organize the stuff in their home, in preparation for a move to a seniors apartment, we found a wonderful little treasure. It was a hand-written poem by my aunt, scratched on to a piece of scrap paper.
The Crimson Tree
It grew in my sister's front yard,
Grew well, glowed amber red.
We played, under and around it
With Mary, dear little child.
We made a leaf house from it,
And its green and golden neighbours.
Mary laughed and threw leaves
With her Mormor - and me
In the autumn air
By the crimson tree.
I was so happy to have this small note and planned to give it to my daughter, Mary, in the future. But now, a new keepsake has been found. As my parents continued to settle into their suite, a photograph surfaced - a photo of my aunt and my daughter and the crimson tree in 1992.
A memory of her loving playfulness.
A picture of her poem.
|Mary McDonald and Anna Paton 1992|