Mother Said
“You’ll be sorry when I’m dead.”
Truer words were never spoken
And the death and dieing breed
in fearsome promises oft broken.
“Why cry?” We said. “See, we are here.”
Your children mother, please stay.
“Do what I say and maybe dear
maybe, I'll stay.” But still she teared.
"You’ll be sorry when I’m dead."
Her heart and ours were broken.
She'd run and hide and cry in bed.
Truer words were never spoken.
Seventy some odd years she had
Gone now, still I hear her say
"You’ll be sorry when I’m dead."
As, I wipe my tears away.
*Profound saying, "You'll be sorry when I'm dead."
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