Sunday Whirl Wordle #38


My hands grope

Lost among thousands

Not forgotten

Yet to remember

Causes a shearing

Pain in my chest

You come to me

Slowly bubbling up

From the darkest hiding place

I watch

You breathing for the last time

In the little house

With the thatched roof

The fire in the hearth


A gate opened

Together on the thrshold

Your path new

I was left to rebuild

Still your love fluttering around me

In a flash

I discovered the stones

You had dropped

Marking the way home

You are Mother

12 thoughts on “January 7, 2012 Sunday Whirl/ Wordle #38

  1. This is so beautiful Annell. I think your mother’s love will flutter a long time and guide you as you walk your own path. I think of you on this journey!

  2. My mother is 83 and beginning to grow frail around the edges. I dread the day she is no longer here, and love your words. I wrote something similar/different when my dad died, about how it felt, despite the pain, as if he were [and is] right over my shoulder.

    The poem has great sadness, but also great joy, when the stones marking the path are discovered. Heartfelt and lovely, annell.


  3. Annell, my prayers are with you as you grieve the loss of your mother. This poem is a moving, wonderful tribute to her presence in your life.

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