The mourning
It was an early morning
The day before Christmas
The phone rang
I reluctantly answered
Your mother is dead.
I couldn’t get a flight
Took the dog for a walk
In the woods,
But this day she walked close to me
And didn’t hunt rabbits.
Coming home
I sat by the bed and cried.
At Chrismas Eve
I gave my dog a cream cake
When thinking of my mother
when she was at her best.