Sometimes, such grace will touch a simple thing,
A gesture, or a word, that it will hold
A meaning far beyond the thing itself.
At evening, when the air was growing cold
I used to watch her gather in her shawl
In folds about her shoulder, in a way
That gave me such delicate joy, hard to define.
It seemed to have some goodness to convey.
For in her was a pool of gentle quietness
A sure repose, untouched by any storm.
I watched her as she gathered in her shawl
And felt enfolded too, in her love, so safe and warm.
I miss you mama ~
the radiance of your pure and shining spirit
still illuminates my path
and guides all of my days ~