Her Mother's Things
Location
My mother used to have her mother's things.
Art, collectables and such.
She use to have these things,
But yesterday is gone.
Now, she does not have these things,
A ceramic rooster and precious art.
Now, these things are no more
Belonging to another.
Her stepfather was another,
Who captured these thing while gone,
To church as it was
To worship and think of her despair.
You see her mom has 'rolled into the deep'
Never again to wake.
Gone by pouring rain
Single soul of life claimed.
Gone are the things,
Precious to the deep
Never to be seen again.
Gone up in futile flame
In tornado's fishbowl.
Gone are the memories of material things
To bask in flashing lens
And visions from her daughter's head.
Now and only understood
As things in her mother's eye.