Fortunate the mother who lives the unflawed life of lore,
perfect, a smooth vase, snow white, the finest ashes left,
protected, remains as light as feathers kept in down fluttering haloed light,
cheerful, forever the uplifting talk tossed round, fine fabric colored beachballs,
bright, her eyes as always twinkle shining light on everyone,
kind, innocent as building blocks, easy as May and June,
Madonna, center of the family worship, whisperer of all their prayers,
unknown, remains of what depths unplumbed by children’s minds and eyes,
deterred, for fear of darkness seeping in the finest unseen cracks,
discreet, the bones amid fine powder pressure might expose to bright sunlight.
Lanning Lee 