Memories quietly shear recesses of our minds

Leaving bitterness wrapped in painful reams, entwined

When these doors are opened

Boiling hearts instruct much tears

In fruitless, unpaid attempts to wash away the years

Cookie jars are empty, evening shadows long

Remembering four and twenty, as we try to sing that song

Wilful thoughts contrive to bring, worthless ill report

Mother’s carefully wrought time, of solace and relief

Oftentimes desperate, undeniably brief; in timely

Brought grace, laced with gut-wrenching grief