(for my mother)
Pink and gentle hues
Scents of heaven itself
Reaching for a handful of sun
Roots entwined in smoothest earth
With welcoming branches of greenest wing
Embracing many tiny, hidden lives
And shielding even the grass for storms
What of your own fragile existence?
Never a reply; sweet smile
But a knowing glance or two
Swaying ever softly in the breeze
– Mary O. Fumento, 1988