(I wish words and signifiers could do her justice)
to you,
nothing less than a birthday sonnet:
Eyes narrowed she walks face into the wind
When home: Penny's rug, pot roast at 10
till
The three minute drive, she can finally
grin
Starkly efficient she revs up the hill
Tell me there's someone who does it
better
Why are we always looking for the sale?
To sis and me, she's rock solid, and
were
we patient, we'd know from her how
never to fail
Gaudy? No, she's color-coordinated
Loyal, dame of Compassion, and as a
matter of fact, perfection goes
unstated
as she keeps our whole dizzying world
at bay
'course Dad completes her; yet your
Teddy bears declare
Mom we love you so much, you're always
there!
