Saturday, September 6, 2003

A Mother's Song at Twilight

Twilight vigil by her bed

Remembrances of life with her

The songs she used to sing

With her veined hand in my own

I whisper to her many things

While she dreams her dying dreams

Her breath is a faint sigh that slows

With each rise and fall of her chest

Until at last I see it’s still

And as I sit, our hands still joined,

In my heart I think I hear again

The sweetness of her song