Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Archive for the month “September, 2014”


My mom.

Loved to read.  Adored popcorn with butter.

Enjoyed sewing.  Played piano.  Gershwin.

Loved to cook.  Loved her cat.

Pleaded with me to come home.

But she couldn’t.

Sometimes her eyes were alight;

Other times not.

Mercurial.  Willful. Sine loco, anno, vel nomine.

I did not cry the day she died.

My heart had broken months before

When my best friend

Lay bereft of mind, but not gone.

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