Mother

My mother's face,
Comes back to me.
Such lovely features,
I can see.

Some straying locks,
Made her a girl.
Caught with a pin,
To upward curl.

She was unhappy,
When things went wrong.
But sweet angel tones,
Were in her song.

Her nimble fingers,
Stitched with care.
And she smiled at you,
When she fixed your hair.

Though years have gone,
Love has made its trace.
When I look to see,
My mother's face.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

Portrait of Ethel's great granddaughter, Jayne