You think you know your mother then discover after her death, files of secret writings and poetry. Here are some beautiful words that should be a joy for all of the family.
Muskoka
The waters run pure, they run deep
Banks line the waters like a fine seam at the edge of a piece of sewing
Occasionally there is a curve, it hides an inlet, sunny, shiny, clean, unspoiled
Nature's clothing, the trees, the grass, the pure flowers
Unsullied by the dust of man’s coming and going.
Banks line the waters like a fine seam at the edge of a piece of sewing
Occasionally there is a curve, it hides an inlet, sunny, shiny, clean, unspoiled
Nature's clothing, the trees, the grass, the pure flowers
Unsullied by the dust of man’s coming and going.
The City Waterfront
The waters lap the wooden docks, bilge, oil, dirt
Winds scurry the paper, the dirt of the city, in piles
Steel, concrete, wood, ships birthed, waters swirling, topped by refuge
Skyscrapers hiding the sky, the noise of trains, odors, smoke
Industry, busy man, his works, his labour, results seen
Fires, belching smoke, crude oil refineries, black, black
Black darkens our gift from nature, a blight on our earth
Taints our air, the bowels of our city right here.
Winds scurry the paper, the dirt of the city, in piles
Steel, concrete, wood, ships birthed, waters swirling, topped by refuge
Skyscrapers hiding the sky, the noise of trains, odors, smoke
Industry, busy man, his works, his labour, results seen
Fires, belching smoke, crude oil refineries, black, black
Black darkens our gift from nature, a blight on our earth
Taints our air, the bowels of our city right here.
The Old Folks Home
With steeping gait and trembling walk, they face the short future
Faces showing the life they have lived, lines on faces
Some turned up, some down. Every colour, every shape
They question, not much food, not enough friends of their kind
Some timid, some too quiet, sitting always staring, too tired to move
A few interested in others, easy to get along with
Faith, some have it, the happy ones, no complaints
Waiting for their deliverer
Faces showing the life they have lived, lines on faces
Some turned up, some down. Every colour, every shape
They question, not much food, not enough friends of their kind
Some timid, some too quiet, sitting always staring, too tired to move
A few interested in others, easy to get along with
Faith, some have it, the happy ones, no complaints
Waiting for their deliverer
Sons
Mother of sons, little boys, running to greet their daddy at day’s end
Faltering steps, hands held out to clasp his hand in theirs
Trusting, love known sure. Walks, steps surer, play time
Food, sleep, grow, grow, too soon, men, men with minds
Minds to think, minds to reason, men with minds, with homes
With sons of their own. Love known, given, returned
Always sons, remembered as little ones. Men soon enough
Faltering steps, hands held out to clasp his hand in theirs
Trusting, love known sure. Walks, steps surer, play time
Food, sleep, grow, grow, too soon, men, men with minds
Minds to think, minds to reason, men with minds, with homes
With sons of their own. Love known, given, returned
Always sons, remembered as little ones. Men soon enough
RIP, Mom