A Mom's Advice
"Unkempt the room, a clutterd mind,"
she said it with conviction,
and often, I well recall,
as she'd more disorder find,
an immediate eviction
swear, muttering down the hall
about the prospects, dire and dim,
predestined for her bungled brood.
Two glass office structures stand,
the old house gone, feelings brim
the eye, nostalgia's homeward mood
on Mother's Day, makes its demand.
A white carnation must portray
the one word I refuse to say,
it much too soon, just ten years past
her last advice. "The easy way,
a pony ride, where children play
away their years. Avoid, aghast,
the waste of what you can't replace.
Stand straight and tall, each day your all
put on the line, my one request."
Cliched, of course, but who'd disgrace
that sweetest face her urgent call
to room with life as if its guest?