Daffodils

I found  a tiny vase of daffodils—four

Just inside my kitchen door.

My mother put them there, I knew.

My mother, an angel of ninety-two.

One day the blossoms began to wilt,

They began to look like yellow silk.

And finally they turned paper-thin;

Just like my  mother’s aging skin.

Thank you, mother, for still being here.

And bringing little gifts of cheer.

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