She is in agony, in agony.
She is my own flesh and blood, for my life.
Now she sits, her face contorted from pain
Stranger to me, as she were a statue.
She would go to bed, before the night becomes
too long. I help her to stand up and
proceed down the corridor together;
not, I sigh, without some difficulty.
Helping her undress, she is patient
– as always – and meeker the worse she felt.
How I longed to do… anything for her!
Then, before she went to quietly sleep
I kiss the tender cheek, mutt’ring “Night, Mum.”
and slip back into the child I had been.
A Mother’s love