For So Much

A gift, a flower, maybe a bunch
A kiss, a hug, a dinner a voucher
Easily bought on the run

It can be no other way
To offer more is unnecessary
As you hold your own

In a world of kids, dogs and schools
Fools and traps
Christmas wrappings, socks and knickers.


You are the mother of my daughter
The woman I slept and loved with
You are gone now, to love another
After all these years, your daughter
Reminds me of you

Is that why men have daughters?
There must be another reason
Sons and daughters perhaps
They won't be mine
But my blood, her mothers blood
Will course through their veins

I wonder whether they will remember
To buy their mother a gift
A gift that says so little for so much done
On this, a day we remember Mum.



(C) Copyright Winter, 2000
Ewan Elliott
All Rights Reserved