The comments are off on the poem you wrote about life without your mother (October 2004). I was reading it today–it is so lovely. “. . . let me live like her as she sought to live like you” is a line to treasure for many of us who had God fearing mothers. I was 60 when my mother died–still miss her.
Thank you, Norma, which also by the way was my mother’s name-Norma Lee Bodenbach Das. Time dulls the intensity of the ache perhaps, but never really does take the wound away, nor perhaps it ought to, till eternity intervenes.
The comments are off on the poem you wrote about life without your mother (October 2004). I was reading it today–it is so lovely. “. . . let me live like her as she sought to live like you” is a line to treasure for many of us who had God fearing mothers. I was 60 when my mother died–still miss her.
Thank you, Norma, which also by the way was my mother’s name-Norma Lee Bodenbach Das. Time dulls the intensity of the ache perhaps, but never really does take the wound away, nor perhaps it ought to, till eternity intervenes.
This reminds me of something you could imagine seeing as an image in textile -very flowing.