She had been there and touched it all
The grey shawl
Of her mother, put aside
Like a shroud to hide
The aging skin of her last days
And her awkward ways
And memory loss. She smelt
The scent and felt
The dry cloth
Which had escaped the moth
But not time’s touch
Of rot and peel.
She could feel
Her mother’s breath
And know that death
Still waited like some unwelcome guest
Out there in the world or in her breast.
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Comments: 7
Keep on going on ;-o