Sonnet for Mary       The years take toll of all our yesterdays, Erasing from the slate of memory The record of our youth; but yet to me One portion is inviolate and stays Untouched by time. As long as I may live, I’ll not forget a narrow stretch of beach Where ocean fingers fumbled forth to reach The white and tumbled dunes; where, sensitive To wind’s caress upon my face, I went Along the sand, made magic by the foam, Toward the waiting welcome of a home In which I found the meaning of content. Those things are constant, limitless and true; As constant as remembered love for you.         © 2004 Robbins Keith Fowler