In Loving Memory of My Mother

She always learned to watch for us,
Anxious if we were late.
In winter, by the window,
In summer by the gate.
And though we mocked her tenderly,
Who had such anxious care.
The long way home would seem more safe,
Because she waited there.
Her thoughts were all so full of us,
She never could forget .
And I think that is where she is,
She must be waiting yet.
Watching 'till we come home to her,
Anxious if we are late.
Waiting by heaven's windows,
Leaning from heaven's gate.

Written by Mary Margaret Anne Weasel
(Not sure of date, probably late 1980's.)