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.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.