At Mother’s Bedside
One wove on a weary loom
The other two stared silently
Searching for always-
scarce-now-absent-smiles
as the revisited rain fell
into rooted resentment
the scent of sprouting
new vegetation
swirling in the air
sweeping last robust cells
with all eroded
sapping her
strength to stop their
flight before crows dropped
the final black curtain on the
sorry business of it all
