Moral Codes
...to My Mum
She was always in the kitchen,
kneading pastry with good humour,
blending garnishes and gossip
as she plied her magic wand
and it was dinner time.
Struggling with algebra
I'd agonize for hours, 'til frustration
got the best of me, she tucked me into bed.
In the morning she was ready with
a fried egg explanation and a hug.
Music was her gift to me, along with
many others, the sound of her soprano
voice still ringing in the air,
the wrath of God was nothing to
her tantrums at my misbehaviour.
Sights and smells come bursting through
as if it were just yesterday,
gentle guidance, remonstrations
blending like her recipes
for cakes and moral codes.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2009
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