Just My Mother Poem by kim hook

Did she have stories never told?
Ones she lived so long ago?
Would I have listened if she did?
She was my mom and me a kid.

Just my mother, not really real,
is this the way, of her, I feel?
Did she love, did she cry?
Was there a time I asked her why?

Mothers, they are always there,
too many times we aren't aware,
that they are people just like us,
to remember that would be a plus.

I sat to listen of memories of old
as my mother talked of long ago.
She spoke of Daddy and his faults
and of dancing to the Tennessee Waltz.

We laughed and cried, just two gals,
not mother and daughter, just two pals.
She was just my mother so I didn't know
that she had actually lived so long ago.