New York, USA
Sitting on that soft, warm lap,
Her hands gently brushing my hair,
Telling me tales of by-gone days,
How I miss her still being there.
The smell of her sweet citrus perfume,
The look she'd get in her eyes,
The way she couldn't stay mad at me,
Beause of those Motherly ties.
I miss being able to call her up,
To tell her the news of the day,
I miss that she's no longer here,
To make everything okay.
Oh, to have just one more day,
Just an hour or two to talk,
Time for her to assure me,
I can finish what's left of this walk.
Just to hear that sweet, sweet voice,
Whisper softly what I need to hear,
Just to hear her laughing,
A sound that was so dear.
Her half-read book on the table,
She didn't get to finish it all,
So many things were left undone,
When she heard the angels call.
Even though it was years ago,
I'll never forget that day,
Nor every step she has taken with me,
Since she had to go away.