It sits on my windowsill, doesn’t move,
...never makes a sound.
Catches dust, but always stays fresh.
I talk to it, but it never speaks.
It listens, but has no ears.
It touches me, though it has no hands.
There’s no G.P.S., but it guides me.
No phone number, but it calls me.
Has no mind, but it thinks.
It’s my beautiful snowglobe.
It shines bright like a diamond.
My great-grandfather gave it to me,
Before he lost that match with Cancer.
But he’s no loser, and Cancer’s no winner.
So i will treasure the snow globe.
And i will never forget him.
Though he went home, away forever,
He’s not gone.
Till this day, he still sits on my windowsill,