Vanilla Kisses For My Princess, Rosy Ones For My Lady
It was a frozen winter made for cardigans and hot toddies
she my mother, my first teacher, was feeling sad
about what she couldn't say for she could not recall
I sat by her bedside and flipped through the old album
and while she nodded she silently, cried ...
" Tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose
And grief yet flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows"
"Was he my husband?" she asked me with a vacant stare
I quietly gave my consent then placed a hand on her frail shoulder
"can we go get some ice cream?" she asked
a grown child with a smile that I could not efface
The sun went down and as we sat in the cafeteria round
we ate vanilla ice cream from plastic cups
and watched the sun go down on the wintry hedge
"Vanilla kisses for my Princess, Rosy ones for my Lady"
That was what dad used to say to us each day
but tonight, she couldn't recall a thing that he would say.
May 7, 2021
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