Like a richly colored flame whose bright tip 
Draws upward, but is brushed by erring storm, 
Then relentingly seeks the earth's dark form 
And buries it's deep desires bit by bit; 
Thus your life ebbed~through trembling, pleading lips 
Cried proffering words to a Triune God. 
In vain I watched for one familiar nod, 
Then pressed my mouth to thin black hairy wisps. 

Memories? Mother! How can I forget? 
Your smiling eyes with sad mystery tinged; 
Your helping hands, through labor wrought with tasks; 
Mother! Your clear high laughter had a depth 
That thrilled my heart, and lifted silence winged 
With boundless joy. Thank God! Memories last! 

Poem By Hilda A. Dammirch

In memory of my loving Mother.
Mama... if you're looking in, this one's for you.