Colin F. Jones

MOTHER

~ 1 ~

How quiet it is where Mother sleeps,
Clasped by night where darkness creeps,
Where from methinks her soul has gone,
To places warmer in the Sun.
There to join in peaceful throng,
The Angels where she doth belong,
For always here on Gods foul Earth,
She was an Angel formed from birth.
Look how the trees around her bow,
As if they know of her somehow,
And shed their leaves like beryl tears
As in our minds her death day nears.
That once again we feel her loss,
And hope she found her way across.

~ 2 ~

Where are our thoughts in splendour now,
Caught by the dream that time allows,
In reminiscence fondly found,
In endless love so great – profound.
Where do we find ourselves in this
That wraps us in a mortal bliss:
Still clinging to recall and cost,
That leaves us groping with our loss.
We search ourselves while still she sleeps,
And wonder if the star that peeps,
Through natures canopy above,
Is from her place of cherished love,
But all we know where ere she be,
Her grace remains in you and me.