What Wound Did Ever Heal

“What wound did ever heal, But by degrees” …Shakespeare Except my mother was dear …Very dear Count me among men Who can read and write Count me among them Who finds book a delight No! Not about intelligence Mother taught me diligence Scrapped for a living So I could get learning I am a dead woman’s sweat My worries cracked her chest My mother was my literacy My literacy is my treasure My treasure…is you I wrote what you can read She was its measure. I never paid back Never gave thanks. Prodigal son playing pranks On me, She had learned to hope Then died In last breath still in hope That I lose not hope But what hope lies there For a drawing man to hope Last straw, just sank in Wide Sea without and within Wounds heal by degrees But some can’t heal Only permitted to blurred My tears blur my view Soaks the ink in papers Forcing me to rewrite and renew She will not want me to cry Rather that I sit up and try Dab my eyes, let the tears dry. “I know who you are my son” You are awesome” Mama, you always tell me that But am breaking down. Your lose never healed Shakespeare said its by degrees Said the pain will decrease But I detest full healing You were so appealing.