A Mother's Careful Lament

The garden walk is covered now with dreams too vague to tell
The twilight lays its garment down on field and wooded dell
The path, once trampled hard as stone by wee and tanned bare feet
Is silent now and overgrown with memories bitter-sweet

The blooms, in wild abandonment of staid propriety
Fling faded petals to the wind in jaded wisps of glee
And thoughts twist upward, upward only to descend at last
To rest within a mother’s heart where she can hold them fast

The night-shaped silence amplifies the sense of ticking time
The cricket anthems fall and rise; dissonant rhythm and rhyme
She cannot feel the fingertips which steal the hurried hours
But simply feels small hands that slip away in search of flowers

The consciousness of letting go is like a heavy shawl
The ache within is keen and slow, love’s sweetest pain of all
The windless night is dark and deep, the earth a dew-filled cup
A world where little children sleep and dream of growing up

Janet Martin

I was sitting on my deck after dark tonight, gazing at the moon-lit remains of a tumbled garden.

This poem is for all the mother's who feel the ache of letting go at this time of year.