YOUR BLUE EYES

Your blue eyes shone in the sky on the day

that waited for a simple sign that said,

though officially dead since yesterday,

she’ll be with us still, she won’t fade away.

 

We saw that sign in the sight and sounds of some

nearby trees that bent a little in the lightest breeze,

respectful, as much as gardens might decently be,

in offering a bow, then a bended knee.

 

And the sign was clear, the sign was bold

as soon as the morning sun had taken hold

the words we heard from all around

were words from her that were so often found

 

hidden in lockets and generous pockets,

the last lines of letters to so many that mattered,

on the tips of the tongues of Ladybirds in song,

in the click-clack of needles that helped babies grow strong.

 

Once these words were in our minds,

our mother’s nature clear, so well defined –

as neatly and completely as might be so

for a fine Leonardo or Michelangelo.

 

But she was of flesh and we know we must live

with the paintings and sculptures we plant in our heads.

Not forgetting, however, that in most morning skies

we’ll find a reminder of those famous blue eyes.