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.

The Last Poem for My Mother

There is a tree frog perched in our family tree.
He is not there just to watch over you and me.
His life is work, but the sight of him brings me joy.
He stirs up memories of when I was a boy.

Memories are what builds this tree and lets it thrive.
It is the lives we shared, its leaves and branches archive.
As the tree gives this frog his place to feed and spawn,
Our family is still supported when we are gone.

Our lifes nourish the tree and pass its strength forward.
We plant our seed and welcome the next kin aboard.
We convey what we were taught by those before us
And add our own voices to the ancestral chorus.

Even that tree frog and his descendants to come,
‘Though we have scant genetic relation to them,
Are fortunate indeed for all the gifts you gave
To family and friends which in our hearts we save.