A time has passed

I am loathed to express the depth I feel.

Not only depth, but too the breadth of loss.

Some days tis such a weight I can just bare

but secrecy my refuge. Blessed mask.

A mask of continuity, of grace.

Which, with thus mask, I walk through day and day.

Each day one more away from precious love.

A love so rich, but true, had just unfurled.

Reflect I do on why and how tis so.

The mysteries of life remain just that.

So on pour days, so on my mask, so on.

I fill each day with cheer; the task at hand.

As do all mothers in this day this age.

A mother to a daughter who has passed.