Sunday 6 March 2016

Sunday, Mum



A Day In 1969

Things I can not utter aloud
My mother’s tears on her mother’s shroud.
Though four, I was there and knew when
Your love left to visit childhood again.


 
Not with betrayal did I then see
How a mother’s love was not just for me.
As I loved her, so she confirmed
How she loved her mother, its like is returned
Ever turning; hopeful, with watchful care
Ever still unspoken, but always, always there.

 


 
Dear Mum,

RIP, I remember that day in 1969.


I love you; and the daisies are still showing like stars on the ground.
Hug Dad and the Gran I never met for me... your Mum.

xxx

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