Her spotted hands in my hair,
The smell of her baking in the air,
Johnny your here! Smothered in her apron,
Mid October, our favorite season,
Stars above, smoke on our breath, on the porch,
Her bewildered look, she\'s forgetting more and more,
I opened the drawer and saw, whispered to my mom, what does it mean? It couldn\'t be...
I was home sick when she died,
Mom on the phone, in my favorite rocker as I cried,
Tears for the woman who always smiled when she saw me,
I adored her, my Aunt Tessie.