Z Poor Mother, Poor Me Poem by Anita Wisniewska

Brown eyes followed me

But I turned away

Memory fading now

Of that pale face floating

Behind the window

As I leave

Breathing a sigh of relief

Memory fading now

Of how you looked with sudden joy

Upon that autumn leaf I brought to show you

Filgrees of decaying lace, once proud and vibrant

As you were in your prime

Heard you say

How beautiful the colours were

I wish

I could have been nicer.