A Sort of a Mother’s Day
On occasion one just needs the time,
to legitimise one’s thoughts in rhyme,
and avoid the pitfalls of the day,
by taking oneself far away,
from cloying and sometimes false eruptions,
of Lent’s half time maternal disruptions.
It isn’t necessary that day to signify,
a situation that may no longer apply,
for some who, through death’s intervention,
have no physical representation,
for the emotional outpouring of childish love,
for her not at home, but forever above.
© David L Atkinson March 2016
