The house is empty now
and no one tends
the flowers, growing still,
along the walk where once
I strolled with Mama.
My hand in hers, she walked
with me and talked about
the blue hydrangeas,
phlox of pink,
daylilies red, and
golden daffodils
dazzling at their peak
of color in the sun.
I walk along the
silent footpath now,
where only shadows move.
I miss Mama.
cCopyright, 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols