Mother
By John Herlihy

I don’t remember her every day like I know I should;
When I forget, I later remember deeper than I could.
My mother loved me with her heart full and profound;
When in her presence, never felt lost and always found.
That is now a lifetime ago, when she was always there;
Now she fills an empty space that only she could spare.
I carry a piece of her soul within me, somewhere deep,
Preserved there as a sacred talisman her memory to keep.
Sometimes I don’t recognize the sadness when it emerges;
The longing and the missing but vague and distant urges.
She had an autumn scent of light rain and colored leaves,
Especially at this season, I feel her floating in the breeze.
One idea lingers that brings upon me a chronic sorrow;
She never saw me grow older, not today, not tomorrow.