The roses were always in bloom,
Rambling along the fence and spilling over
Within reach of small hands.
Picking the perfect small blossoms,
One for each of the boys and one for me,
Pinned to the collars of our Sunday best.
Sitting in the pew, next to our handsome father,
We hear her voice from the choir loft,
Strong and beautiful, with the clarity of the blood
That filled our small hearts.
She sang and we answered, fledgling birds
Still secure in the nest.
Her singing echoes in my soul,
Her song stilled by her choice,
The music no longer her joy.
Today, I will pin a red rose on my collar,
a tribute to her and her voice,
Rose, the music of my life.
Mother’s Day 2012
Kathleen G. Everett © 2012