Our mother sat to rest back down the way.
We knew not, as she bid her shadow stay
With us awhile. It was at noonday, bright
With sun, when she complained of waning light,
We grasped her arm and found a slack and thin
Ethereal shell of what it once had been.
In love and blood we’ve walked and held our own
Against this road. Its perils we long have known;
And yet she slipped from out our grasp, unseen,
To falter thus. It is not cruel or mean,
But simply done. Alone, she’s little apt
To rise, now in retreat, her purpose tapped.
Our path moves on, has no returning track,
And leaves her small, reposing form far back;
Nor can we slow or wait, only succumb
To vainly call and plead she rise and come,
Lest, falling far behind, she’s lost from sight
And cloaked at last in gently falling night.
For my sisters…
© 2007, R.S. Adamcik