In Memory of my Mother.

Night enfolds the home with bated breath
Death walks abroad no stranger here,
And I alone in silent thought await
The passing of a life I hold so dear.

There should be something that I need to say
But thoughts are swallowed up by my own tears,
Words of love, of comfort and regret
Lie silent and unspoken by my fears.

Memories run swiftly through my mind
Cold chapped hands from washing days,
Smells of baking, fingers in the bowl
Sunday lunchtime and the songs of praise.

Summer picnics taken in the park
Autumn gathering blackberries in the field,
Sitting in the garden shelling peas
Gathering nature's gifts for our own yields.

Christmastime when sharing in the chores
Voices joined in song like liquid gold.
Till every surface of the house was clean
And sitting quiet the Christmas story told.

Now her speech and dignity are gone
Her breathing harsh but fighting to the end.
My words come tumbling out with wretched haste
There is no time now to pretend.

Did she know that I was here at all?
In my heart I only hope and pray
That as the light went from her eyes
She heard the bird-song welcome in the day.

Copyright: Lisa Fuller. May 2004.