She wore an old and tattered dress
She’d had for many years
Her face was worn, the lines revealed
The traces of her tears.
Her hair was pulled back in a scarf
To guard it from the wind
For 20 years I think she’d had
The coat she bundled in.
And with each step, she firmly held
The hand of her small girl.
Before they left the house that day,
She saw to every curl
She’d neatly pressed the clothes they wore
And shoes were polished bright
No scuff marks had remained on them
And they were fastened tight.
Though it was many years ago
The picture’s in my mind
A better or more loving mother
I could never find.