I’ve never loved anyone more,
than I ever loved my Mum.
She fed, and changed, and loved me too,
and when I cried, she’d come.
Her face was full of golden sun,
her hair smelled like the rose.
Her smile was perfect; natural too,
a sight that never goes.
Her arms, they were the softest arms,
they held me as I cried.
She knew when she was needed there,
and held them open wide.
One day, her beauty left for good,
not ever to return.
Something robbed her of her smile;
a lesson hard to learn.
With each new day, she grew more pale,
and spent more time asleep.
In every moment that she woke,
she’d often sit and weep.
She needed me, like I did her,
we clung onto each other.
The pale, gaunt figure, wracked with pain,
was still my gorgeous mother.
One day, though, she lost all her hair,
and cried for many hours.
Now there was nothing left to smell,
of sweet honey and flowers.
The night on which she passed away,
the Heavens were alive.
Watery Angels came to play,
performing on the drive.
She looked so peaceful, resting there,
a log so freshly sawn.
I kissed her once on each cold cheek,
and felt my heart being torn.
The funeral was Thursday last,
drawn by a graceful steed.
Towed regally, with brass handles;
proud Son taking the lead.
It isn’t much, a hole in soil,
for someone such like her.
I know she’s gone to God’s right side,
such goodness did she stir.
I never will love anyone,
quite like I loved my Mum.
That day, trapped in a scary hole,
I cried; she didn’t come.
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