Legacy Stains

In the drawer, a scarf stained, frayed,

threads whisper secrets that won’t be displayed.

Crimson threads weave through time’s open wound,

a story of laughter, of love, still marooned.

She wore it in summer, in innocence bright,

a picture of joy in the soft morning light.

Now it lies hidden, with ghosts tucked away,

my grandmother’s smile, like a flickering ray.

Life’s markings remind us, though seasons may shift,

the blood that binds us is an unbroken gift.

Each drop a reminder of battles once fought,

the warmth in the fabric, the memories caught.