My Mother

She was the frailest of creatures ever Pretty and white, delicate as a rose Possessed sharp memory and very clever A kind heart and gentle frown above her nose Never strict, would always let go Busy with her writing and household chores Hated needle work and didn’t know how to sew Would always love a picnic outdoors Never thought too highly of her Until the day she fell sick Said softly typically sweet and demure Of life’s deep mystery and funny trick ‘I know I am weak’, said mommy dear In health and character since beginning But always kept this prayer short and clear Never to give my child my ending I cried for days when she said this Loving her fragility more than ever Her true love shone through this pure bliss That she bestowed on her daughter with cheer