One Sentence (2005 poem for my mother)

For my mum, my mother, a grand (young) lady,
Is her son, no other, her grown-up baby,
Come, to discover, in this grove so shady,
With a poem, how I love her, and with writing maybe…

Uncover, with the necessity, of rhyme and rhythm,
A lover’s propensity, to undermine in him,
Everything other, than underlying givens,
Nothing to cover the undenying fool’s whim…

To declare, forthright, the plain and simple truth,
That whether, for nights, I was staying under her roof,
Or otherwise, in flight (having left the nest as a youth),
I have never, despite the dress of appearing aloof…

Ever, though ways seem to part,
Severed her from my heart.

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