Old Mother

Old mother
sits in her chair
before the window,
slowly rocking.
The laugh lines
are now wrinkles,
the glowing hair,
now gray,
the heart,
not as strong as it used to be.
Blue eyes are now red
from brimming tears
that trickle down her cheeks
to fall on breast
that once nourished her children.
Her lower lip is sucked in
and held by teeth
that followed her own,
her chin quivering from the effort
to keep from crying aloud,
her misery.
Old mother
alone in her room
living longer than time,
her husband,
and her children,
all three.
Old mother
wishing for youth,
and the exuberance of life
the way it used to be.
Old mother,
crying now,
as she does everyday,
and whispering,
Oh God please,
please take me away.


W. James Beard, Jr.