I don't remember very much
an echoed whisper, a velvet touch,
nothing to hang my hat on, as such,
but I know that I was loved.
There was a feeling it seemed of togetherness,
and I knew for sure, well, more or less,
that no matter the problem, or the mess,
that love would see me through.
And so it was in those childhood days,
rosy remembrance, in misty haze,
impossible now to count the ways,
in which you showed your love.
Then came growing spurts and growing pains,
a lot of losses, but a lot of gains,
and the only constant that remains?
your unflinching, mothers love.
It saw me through my teenage years,
the broken hearts, the cloistered tears,
the brave new world with all its fears,
the sanctuary of your love.
When the time arrived you cut the strings,
with all the heartache and loss it brings,
but not once did you show those things,
such was the depth of your love.
You wished me well in my new life,
new job, new home, new town, new wife,
and I was too blind to see your strife,
blinded by your love.
Now as I try to re-read my book,
I'd like to rewrite some steps I took,
and give you more than a second look,
to thank you for that love.
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
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