Mother perceived my tender years
Could not abide life's harsh facts.
She hid them from my eyes, ears
With lies woven of loving acts.
When our elderly neighbor died
I happened on a hearse at his home.
She said it would give him a nice ride
To a place with a marbled dome.
When a lady insane rang our bell
I was shocked by her frazzled face.
"It's OK, son, she just isn't well."
The mildest account of the case.
When Lucy Sue was in her teens
She left our street without a clue.
"She's gone to help an ailing aunt,"
But that wasn't what others knew.
As I matured Mother expressed
Hard truths stitched in worldly blue.
Her loving lies had been dressed
To tailor me for what would accrue.
I am in her debt for easing me
From knee-high socks to suits.
In adulthood I would clearly see
Mother's loving lies bore fruits.