Image for the poem the final missive

the final missive

♪a post-apronsongs letter from my mother♪

ďNo one will ever love a son more profoundly and more
sincerely than his mother!Ēó

dear son:

i may not tarry with you till tomorrow
for heavy on my heart sweet voices call
nor do i have the slightest wherewithal
an extra breath from life to beg or borrow

iíve loved you since your birth was just a notion
shared by your father in our fresh romance
iíve loved you still through every circumstance
and given you my resolute devotion

how oft have i a shoulder been to cry on
when you have trifled with the lionís mouth
or dared the spiteful snares of reckless youth
to tremble on dark rocks too vile to die on!

iíve sung my apronsongs these hundred evenings
in times of trouble and in times of joy
hard-pressed to balance my avoirdupois
or salvage from rough sands concordant meanings

your mAmAís head bows low upon her bosom
her eyes flirt no more with soft morning light
her ears kiss not your poetís penís insight
for life has shifted in its vital prism

look to the hills from whence the age of reason
has stunned the world in its unreasoned rage
stand like a man menís folly to assuage
goodbye, my son, till come the reaping season.

ófrom mAmA with love

© Copyright 2020 July 30
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Written by cabcool
Author's Note
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