I remember Mom's garden behind the kitchen door,
Pop turned the ground by hand to raise vegetables to store.
I see Hollyhocks, Four-o-clocks, Petunias and Roses,
Dandelions and thistles to tickle our noses.

I recall picnics, barbecues, children by the dozens,
Grandma', Grandpa', Uncles, Aunts and cousins.
I remember Pinochle, horseshoes, sometimes baseball.
Children jumping on the beds and playing in the hall.

Women in the kitchen, cookin' up a feast--
Feeding children snacks-to save our food (at least).
Now holiday memories come flooding in--
Oh! the love for all and peace within!

Ah! That mystical, magical yesteryear--
A wonderland world of Holiday cheer.
And the gathering began--
Sisters, brothers and all of their clan.

And times-an unexpected surprise--
And joy would come into Mom and Pop's eyes--
'Mid squeals of delight and shedding of tears--
When at the door, our wanderers appear.

For no matter where we each would roam,
Drawn by love-we always came home
As if it were by fate's decree,
To gather round Mom and Pop's Christmas Tree.

Time marches on and children leave home,
All the voices are gone-Mom and Pop are alone-
Oh we visit now and then, but our children are growing,
And their problems and needs keep us from knowing-

How little time is left for our beloved Mom and Dad--
So they cling to each other 'til their love is ironclad.
Time passes away and takes Pop as well,
Leaving Mom's life an empty shell.

She retreats into a world of her own--
Where Pop's still around and no children are grown.
One by one her children try to help her make the time go by.--

Mom's with Pop now, joined in Eternity,
Sheltered by their Heavenly Host in his loving paternity.
In His Eternal City-they're happy now, I know--
With His eternal children who never, ever grow.

History has a way of repeating itself, they say--
the cycle begins again--
Our sunset years are on the way--our day of reckoning is at hand.
Lord God, help me understand.

What will happen to the family you placed in such loving hands?
The silken cord is cut for my sisters, brothers and me--
Father God-please--
Let this not be the end of my beloved family.

Written April/1989 on the death of my Mother.
Rest Well, dearly beloveds, you've earned it.

Betty C. Danielsİ
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