Morning comes softer now.
You rise without rushing,
the house no longer waiting
for your first move.
I visit with small things —
fruit cut the way you like,
a cardigan folded on the chair,
the kettle already warm.
You smile as if surprised
that care can travel in this direction.
There was a time
when every hour depended on you:
school forms, scraped knees,
the quiet way you steadied the day
before anyone else was awake.
You never called it sacrifice;
you just did what the day required.
Now the rooms keep their own order.
The children are grown,
the lists shorter,
your hands gentler with their tasks.
You speak of the past
as if it were a long corridor
you once walked daily
and now visit only when needed.
This afternoon,
you sit by the window
watching the street settle into evening.
You say you like this stage —
the ease, the space,
the way the world no longer
asks so much of you.
I don’t tell you
that I still measure myself
against the quiet strength
you carried for years.
Instead, I refill your cup,
adjust the blanket at your side,
and let the moment stretch
between us —
as if the years have shifted
while we weren’t looking.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 10th, 2026 04:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- Users favorite of this poem: nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson), Tristan Robert Lange, Kevin Hulme
- In collections: 2026.
Offline)
Comments12
great write my friend and a fav
Thanks, Norman. Greatly appreciated my friend 🙏🕊️
most welcome
Time changes all maturing and ripening emotions as well as the physical form. Well written my friend
Most grateful to you dear Soren 🙏🕊️
You are always welcome Cryptic
This is a delightful portrait of Mother. You are so fortunate to have such a wonderful carer.An enjoyable read
A mother! Indeed. It would have been, were it so. Or it could have been worse as well. Thanks amigo 🙏🕊️
I really like this. I liked the shakespearian reference but of nature. Beautifully written.
You're eye and ear are of poetic acumen, many, many thanks 🙏🕊️
Feels like love in its most unshowy form—care passed quietly from hand to hand without needing to be named.
There’s a deep tenderness in it, like gratitude finally learning how to sit still beside memory.
Come to think of it the grandparents had a similar way of tender interaction. My gratitude to you, dear Thomas. Your poetics emanates unto awareness and beyond. 🙏🕊️
We have to love mum , we reap what we sow.
That we do have to, indeed... and live long in the land. Thanks kindly 🙏🕊️
This is lovely and moving. What a great tribute! She sounds like an amazing woman.
Kind of you dear Katie B. Thanks ever so much 🙏🕊️
Arqios…this is one of those poems that sneaks up on the heart quietly. No dramatic moment…just tenderness accumulating line by line until suddenly the weight of time, gratitude, aging, and love are all sitting there together in the room. And that final image of letting the moment stretch between you…absolutely lovely. Powerful piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you for that dear Tittu. Most appreciated 🙏🕊️
The unfolding of a rich relationship and the passage of time are woven together to form a complete picture here, Rik. Felt every line.
Glad to here, cobber. You've marked astutely, where it's at. 🙏🕊️
I enjoyed this. Very emotional and made me think of my own Mother since past-on.
I think anyone can Identify with your lines.
Thanks, Kevin. Mine is on the verge. Senescence is not an easy stage to go through🕊️🙏
Wonderful tribute to your mother Rik, I feel the same about my mother and father.
Andy
Jeez .. Believe me, if I could hit that like button a dozen or so times, then I would hit that bloomin red like button a dozen or so times .. Neville
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.