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