Over my shoulder
Over my shoulder in ebony sky,
says she, full and blooming,
kin to my memory, says she.
Over my shoulder sits my mother's face,
spoken voice, wind whispers too.
Does this Spring remember me,
a small child's face remembering,
when now past, it was mother and me?
My promise says she, is remembering,
and Winter's passing into April nights.
I will remember you into tomorrow's
bloom until someday, someone else
remembers me.
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