Her face, was like a road map of all special places,
Yes, her words spilled out of time, joy and sorrow
asking for someone to listen, love and remember; she was here.
Copyrighted: CMM 2017
That four poster bed and me at the foot…
was the beginnings of beginnings
and the irony it took.
My Mother’s plight to come back home,
when our Father’s fights,
and opening their doors,
no one needed to sleep on the floor.
The nights we laid, kittens in bed,
me at the foot,
as they snuggled at the head.
Quilts laid busy acoss us just right,
four poster jammed,
with three quite a sight.
As we grew older and given each a bed,
I will never forget the four poster bed,
me at the foot and they at the head.
I wonder in life when all things askew
and the trials I endured
whether old or renewed.
If being at the foot of this bed
gave me the will to survive,
in keeping my head.
© CMM 2002
I turn to see a shoe I missed
It was my Mother’s slippers
I thought I could climb the stairs
with even sounds of flippers.
I stepped into the stairway
and much to my surprise.
I lost the one, kept the other
I felt it gone and realized
I still had one on the other foot
and that was ok you see.
I will continue on in venture
carrying my mother’s shoe with me.
So such is life in little things
our children do take with him.
The climb the shoe and little
one too and leave a shoe with them.