Your mother dead,
             lying in bed,
you sitting there,
          holding her hand,

as if nothing could be
                  more natural,
    just friends for

eternity, a companion
         on her journey to
    new worlds, where the
only language spoken
             is still


For Sandy Shea
and in memory of
Harriet Puffer Shea
December 31, 2000


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter