~ Mama’s Beads ~

Mama loved her jewelry, costume pearls in every shade.
Tiny teardrop earrings, a different color everday.
To her they were so beautiful, no matter they weren’t real,
Shiny pastel colored beads, gave Mama such a thrill.

At eighty-five, an invalid, Mama took a beading class,
Creating a "Beadmeister," stringing beads and crimping clasps.
Every color in the rainbow, wobbled through my Mama’s hands,
Until her tiny fingers, couldn’t bead the little strands.

Soon after, Mama left our world and left her beads behind.
Mailed to me in a jewelry box, of the very oldest kind.
Not knowing what to do with Mama’s handmade gems,
I pondered for a year or two, peeking inside now and then.

It seemed a shame to store them in their boxes, tucked away.
My dilemma was, how could I possibly put them on display.
Until I heard a little voice, with a visual thrown in too,
I saw a picture in my mind, of exactly what to do.

"Cut the strings, release the colored beads into a basket,
Tossing, turning, mixing up, a tiskit for a tasket."
Angel fountains in my garden, filled with Mama’s beads,
To remind me of her spirit, strolling down the path with me.

COPYRIGHT©2004 BONNIE TORRENTE