Apron Strings

When I was young, I often clung, to many little things. I'd reach up high, again retie, my mama's apron strings. I sometimes did, what mom forbid, although she'd make it clear. Thoughts still linger. I remember, through each fleeting year. Acquainted still, her stories thrill, with many left untold. I can't go back, though mem'ries track, to years I'd rather hold. I'm lost in thought, it can't be caught, despite my futile search - mama singing, mama bringing, this small boy to church. Though I was touched, and changed so much, through Christ, the perfect One - I cannot stay, time slips away, from all that she had done. I try to grasp, and hands I clasp, around those many things - but mem-ry strands, slip through my hands - just like those apron strings. I miss her so. Emotions show. There's moistness in my eyes. I can't withhold, though I am old, my oft guilt-ridden cries. Though sometimes sad, I'm always glad, whenever I think of - my mama's cares, my mama's prayers, and her most precious love. ©2011 louis gander / ganderpoems.org