Mother's Bookmark's

My thoughts they roil like waters dark in the abyss of blackest night, with memories of mother’s bookmark, of Longfellow read by lamp light. She called, in the room around me, the patter of other small feet. Her gentle voice fetched angels . Oh, the rhymes, they astounded me like lullabies soft and so sweet. All fearsome shadows, she’d dispel. Maxine, my queen, read Tennyson and the Charge of the Light Brigade. A little girl dreamt of caissons roll, and thunderous cannonade. To be so brave, the small child mused, mother her precious, heroine; what would it take to stand so strong without father, and not confused. What words could be the linchpin to right mother’s tell-tale wrong. Such sad inspiration, mother, oh, how I wronged you by being born, though I loved you above all others. Some thoughts of you make me forlorn. Bring back the tales of mother goose, three small kittens and their mittens. Return the vision of your smile the happiness your warmth induced, let your spirit comfort, lighten night, if only for a little while.