Mattie B Evans-Robinson

The house is still, the air is thin,
The silence where your voice has been.
The garden blooms, the seasons turn,
While I am left to ache and learn—
How one small heart can hold such space,
And search the world for one lost face.

You were the anchor in the gale,
The steady hand when I would fail.
Now every dawn feels strange and new,
A day that’s lived without you too.
But though the thread of life is spun,
The love you gave is never done.

In quiet halls, I hear your name,
The world goes on, but not the same.
I’ll carry on the best I can,
With all you taught and all you planned,
Finding pieces of your grace,
In every mirror, every place.

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