It’s been fifty years or more
since I last saw my mother,
caught up in the pain of war,
floating high above my body,
broken by some bomb or other.
Though ‘twas dark of night,
over the fires of hell,
she radiated pure light,
not taking me home,
but with a message to tell.
Now, long after that war,
no memory do I lack,
I know this for sure,
though dead for nine years,
she was sending me back.
As we floated above,
one thing was easy to tell,
she was pure love,
returning me with this message:
to live my life well.
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