So long mother: A poem 

You went in the southern hemisphere’s April cool 

A lotus floating on fan leaves, and in full bloom 

Your mind so sharp and sound like a harp 

playing in the indigo night, playing in time’s warp 

We can talk of tireless energy, loyal love doesn’t whinge 

A heart spins a snapshot on timelessness’ fringe 

Your duty was your wardrobe; you could pick a pin 

in a haystack to keep wholesome kith and kin 

The wage of motherhood is its fruit never die 

Even if the picking for the self is a far cry 

The missal from the heavens comes in the understanding 

that the giver’s giving is God’s hand resembling 

So long mother, since you’ve gone, the leaves have gone grey 

But a flower bursts forth through my soul each passing day 

You went on Easter Sunday, and left me to brood 

that I didn’t do enough for you while I could