My Mother Poem by Peter Hall

Her Father and brother appear smaller and smaller
through the tear blurred back window of the Austin A40
the separation of Mother and Father was for her good...

so they said.

The memory scars the heart
dulls the feminine senses.

These graves in the mind
bring her strength of soul.

The wisdom of her times
are transferred by affection and not words of advice.

Her flowered kitchen apron
expresses her love and mind.

Her faith in Christ: her strength yet purpose
are preached by wordless sermonettes.

This is a life that reaches
deep into the unreachable.

No fuss
But chivalrous.