My mother.

My mother 1918-2010


My mother is like a fragile bird,

I hold her in the palm of my hand
So fearful lest she should fall.
Worried eyes, trembling heart.
How to prevent or reassure when
There’s no halting Age’s call?

And the filmy wings, thin-feathered
No longer fly, fly, fly
The way they did behind it all.

(written a year or so before she died)

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Posted on 30/06/2013 by Catherine
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