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
Cold
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
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