She looks now from the hillside.
The view is calming, the early morning sunrise
warms the green grass.
Shakes the dew from its slumber
asks it to move along.
Deer visit in the evening.
The flowers her children plant draw their attention.
She still looks forward to Mother’s Day.
They visit then again
pull the weeds the deer ignore,
having weeded their own souls -
visiting Mom does that.
She will enjoy seeing them and the grandchildren
all dressed up for church
heartwarming memories of past Mother’s Days,
when all the hard work looked so pretty.
In heaven they have not resolved
whether to let mothers
have a continuing view of their children’s lives.
They’ve tested it, much too emotional -
emotion the one great gift that they don’t take
when you pass.
So this day Mom gets to see only the best -
savours pride which lingers on the hillside
like the sweet smell of the lilacs, growing along the woods edge,
wafts through the warming air.
Her youngest comes alone in the evening twilight
to sit and watch the deer eat his mother’s fresh flowers.
He was the only one who knew she found the deer beautiful -
and did not mind when they ate the shrubs in the backyard.
Consider purchasing my book of poems, “I Have His Letters Still” – Poetry of Everyday Life ($11.95). Available on Amazon at http://tinyurl.com/RayBrownAmazon or purchase an autographed copy at http://poet-ray-brown.com