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Poem

I turn back pages of memories,
I see the faces of mom and thee,
She plays the uke and its melodies,
Both sing along, harmoniously,

Shakespeare knew of thee, called out your name,
Verbatim in detail, all the same,
'Twas not planned, 'tis mom who laid its claim,
Gave you your name, that William gave fame,

Time and again, you fought the battle,
The doctors, nurses, endless prattle,
Years decisions of how to grapple,
Of holding on life's dire struggle,

Pain, suffering, and surgical scars,
Birthday's, anniversary's, postcards,
Sent with my love, and deepest regards,
Hoped for the best, in prayerful words,

Your giant husband, a gentle man,
Stayed by your side whenever he can,
Took sister's girl, as part of your clan,
Nay aunt but mom, simply much more than,

I heard your loss in final stages,
Hurt am I, though in Heaven's graces,
Sad, yet, you are in better places,
Now you and mom share angel's faces.

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