For Shirley Snipper…
a poem in honour of my mother
Misty
and delicate
she
floats across the floor
gliding
amongst the people
in
the room.
Her
sweet gracefulness
reveals
a soul sublime
with
gentle thoughts
and
pictures pretty.
Such
corporal harmony
that
so undisturbing,
but
as she goes
all
notice her.
A
presence not lightly parted with.
When
this fair rare bird
alights
upon a spot,
her
entrance inspires
a
delightful sigh,
sometimes
a tickle
of
fun to come.
Yet
all too soon, wrapped in her cloak
of
secrets and silence,
she
chooses other airy spaces
to
rest her fleeting soul.
Who
is this wondrous creature,
this
pretty little nymph
who
knows meadows and marble alike,
this
soaring goddess of
goodness,
sympathy and frailty?
Lucky
is the one
who
can claim this gem her own,
and
knows that when she enters,
he’ll
be there
to
watch her go,
and
gloat over the fact that
they
can call her mom!
This
creature is my mother
and I’m the lucky one.
Original handwritten version
below / Version manuscrite originale ci-dessous :
(Last 5 lines are original size /
Dernière 5 lignes sont
de taille d'origineaux)
My Mother
She was a Picasso princess
Angled in lines of irony,
comedy and tragedy
that converge into laughter.
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