My Mother’s Scent


My mother died a while ago, longer than it seems.
I feel her presence near me, sometimes in my dreams.
The sorrow of her death does slowly fade away.
I wish my mem'ries of her will forever stay.

I'll not forget, I'm part of her; she's a part of me;
I look into my mirror - she's the one I see.
And yet there is another very special way
I hold on to my sweet mom to this very day . . . .

Inside a drawer in a chest which she gave to me
are heaped and piled and silky, lace and filigree;
they're wonders of bright colors, rainbows' pots of gold --
the scarves she wore so often, beauties to behold.

And yet there is something more, a strange anomaly,
her lovely scent -- a whisper -- ever known to me --
is locked inside, in this chest, in this vibrant stash.
It's in my heart, and within this brightly colored cache.

So as the years move quickly, and though I won't forget,
I'll open up this drawer, breathe in -- and will find her yet.

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