Fourteen
years ago today,
My dear,
dear Mother slipped away.
The color
draining from her cheeks,
Her body
silent ‘neath the sheets.
I knew that
the day was near,
I knew I
could not keep her here,
I tried so
hard to ease her pain,
I knew my
efforts were in vain.
I was
grateful for the sweet release,
Her weary
face at last at peace.
But, from
her bed, I saw the tree,
Wondered, “What
would Christmas be?”
Outside the
ground was cold, but green,
No white
Christmas, it would seem,
Yet as I watched her body die,
White flakes
descended from the sky.
A final gift
of wintery white,
As her
spirit took its flight,
These the
memories I recall,
Each year when
Christmas snowflakes fall.
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