Mother Mary

Mother Mary 
Telephones aer quiet in the big white house. 
All along the parapets aer the paintings hung. 
None of them aer seen by any of the public. 
Just the Queen may view her Renoir. 
Terribly addictive art has come to mean a lot. 
She loves her mother and is faithful to her. 
Remembering her days of cahtting with her friend. 
How she tore the lonliness from him. 
Leaving love in solid painted chunks. 
Inside a man needing much. 
The doves coo at thy feet each day. 
^V^iolet memories and poems thought of too. 
Mother Mary she is blest.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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