So, here we are again,

In fevered, restless dreams,

Burying my mother, again.

How many times must I lie,

Laying the poor old girl to rest.

Anyway, it was all for the best.

And she was ninety-five, you know.

She didn’t have long, or far, to go.

So, here we are again,

In the cemetery of dreams,

Laying my poor old mum to rest.

 

************

 

And we lie buried beneath these clouds,

Helpless victims of our Yorkshire sky,

Praying for a sight of the warming sun!

Shielded from U.V., we can’t deny.

Complaining to the gods that it’s just not fair.

The sun is not shining, but we know it’s there,

Warming the earth with its shimmering light,

 

I can no longer see you, mother,

Or hold your cool and slender hand.

But, you’re present in the clouds above me,

Where your smile helps me to understand,

That, after all is said and done,

You will always be my mother

As long as ever there’s a sun!

 

**********************

****************