Bits of me are missing mother,
the bits of me which you placed.
Bits of me are missing Mother;
ah, I see you in my face.
Trying to remember Mother’s days -
wine and roses - Sinatra songs
beaches, pipe curls and crinolines -
Days, so far gone, so long ago,
replaced by bitter brew: by tears,
by fears, by little pills;
I remember you.
I see you in my face Mother.
Years gone by and still I try,
no easy thing to do, I try to remember,
just a few memories of happy days
with you -
Was it when I learned to read;
when you baked your pies? Ah, Mother,
mother memories only come in sighs.
Still, in all, it’s very true, I spend
each day missing, missing all of you.