Saturday, March 17, 2007


For my Mother

She sits and rocks and reads her book,
A book she's read so many times,
A book of love and kisses sweet
Just an hour she calls her own.

What memories, visions, thoughts she has
As her lips curl with the faintest smile?
Her head falls back against the chair
For just a bit her large eyes close
In a face worn with the trials of life.

Do visions dance within her mind?
Of things that were,
Of all she wished,
Does she regret the choices made
When the man came to her father's door
Bearing gifts of hand and heart?

She opens her eyes and sees her book,
Open still upon her lap.
As dime-store glasses slip down her nose,
She smiles her smile, and finds her place
In this treasured book,
Her book of dreams.

3 comments:

singleton said...

Just beautiful. And for so many, perhaps for us all, it is the book of dreams that compels us to turn the page.....

just me said...

You always say just the right thing!

No said...

I knew I had seen this photo somewhere; it speaks a thousand words, doesn't it?