I remember.

Under the dwindling light of that fading day

I watched my mother, from the window 

of the room I shouldn’t be in.

No-one stops me now.

 

She loved her garden.

 

Nestled in Eden, the nurse of nature nourished.

My heart would fill to a millpond

to see her gentle hands with such willing care

bring life to the roaring colours

and blossoming beauty.

 

The memory lingers, yet seems resigned to leave

like a tiring train pulling sleepily away. 

Though I chase it as far as the platform allows

it disappears regardless.

 

But she remains, still

her soul echoes in these walls,

her laughter dances through the years,

quiet as a choir.

Her sermon sung.