On yo
ur knee, in the lamplight,
dipping b
uttered toast in yo
ur coffee,
I hear the h
ush of the silent ho
use.
The other children gone off to school,
yo
u and I sit together
alone in the dim morning light,
f
ull of love and tr
ust,
chattering to one another abo
ut
simple times with
unf
urrowed brows.
We were so close then.
I hold that memory in my mind
like an old black and white photograph
one wo
uld carry in a wallet, worn soft
from years of riding in a back pocket,
a photo
showing the ones yo
u love,
the most bea
utif
ul mother,
the best loved and dearest held,
the treas
ured one--
to be shown far from home.