Somewhere in my mind,
Was something to be found,
Not on the surface,
No digging would surround.
It came out of nowhere,
As I passed the glass,
Peering at a turquoise stone,
A golden broach it did enhance;
It was my mother's moonstone,
A family heirloom,
Embellished with gold filigree,
And attached by a chain.
The Islamic pendant,
On display at the museum,
Sent me backwards on a journey,
To discover you it seemed.

On the way home I thought of Proust,
Tasting the Madeline, tea soaked,
The pleasure it did give me,
To remember times past,
And the fingers of Mother's hand,
Gently do up the clasp.

Love Mary **