A Mother's Last Thoughts

Arthritic fingers dance across
The restraining tray of the Gerry chair,
Making crochet loops or
Knitting one and purling two.

Once in a while
Vacant eyes raise and
A week voice begs,
"Where are the children?"

No longer can her head
Be held high; it slumps again
And the fingers work
What was once their magic.

No doily will result
From the energy expended
But those treasured objects from the past
Will keep their places of honor.

With great effort
Remembered responsibility again
Brings the question:
"Where are the children?"

MSP
5/2/12