Saturday, January 15, 2011

Her Mother

Perhaps written in haste,
In the heat of feelings she barely fathomed,
Her words pouring out,
Unchecked in bold print,
In the midst of my day.

Her mother is lost
In the thicket of her mind,
With only smiles in answer
To yesterday's words.

We sit together
Each month counting the ways
That are lost to her now,
Of dropped numbers
And forgotten words,
And little for me to do
But to place my hand on hers.


Anonymous said...

Dwell in compassion,know contentment, you may long endure.

Bethany said...

This is love.