Goodbye, Mom

I probably should write a poem
To get out of my funk.
Lines with less to whom to show’em –
My readership has shrunk.

She did not take my wits with her
And my love is still here.
She would not want me to wither –
She’d rather that I cheer.

She knew nothing last forever
And tried to teach me so.
Mere death does not our bonds sever –
It was her time to go.

And what she left within myself,
A living part of her,
Is not a trinket for my shelf,
But thoughts of who we were.

So, I must say goodbye and thanks
For all you gave to me.
I’ll think of you in rhyming pranks
And imagine your glee.