My mother liked to do needlework.
With skillful stitches she embroidered
bright human figures, red watermelons,
and brown trunked trees
with green foliage.
She decorated our home with her own
comely tapestry of canvas work.
I walked today through a park
in bleached November light.
The grass was green
with brown patches in the ground.
And I remembered my mother.
What a moving and honored poem. I wonder if you hated her creativity when you were younger; and yet, now, miss it so dearly.
Loved reading it. It's so heart touching without any sentimentality. You convey strong emotions in an understated style. Sheer elegance!
Mother's handycraft is comparable to beautiful nature; nice to read you poetic memory
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a lovely poem x My late Aunt also loved doing the same type of needlework in her younger days, it made me think of her x Thank you for sharing. Five stars*