The day is what you make it

This day is whatever you make it:
A tick of the clock, passing unnoticed,
Or a deep tock, solemn as ritual.
On this day three years ago my mother died
Taking with her my link to the past,
A kindred spirit gone forever.
A year on I cried;
Two years on I forgot;
Three years on I practice remembering
This day is what you make it,
If you remember nothing else,
Remember that.


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(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014 Registered & Protected
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