Mother calls up the stairs
Her sweet voice flows to her ear
She calls back down
The beauty is not noticed
Rushing from place to place
Trying to fight life from passing her by
She loses sight of what is important
Till form, graceful and tender
Every move takes no effort
Pleasures received from everything she does
Calmly rushes her to her place
Aroma of pasta and garlic
Heads bowed, hands held
Loving voice speaks, familiar and weak
The voice becomes higher and stronger
Tender and similar now
Her own little children's tiny words reach her ear
Echoed years past
As she reflected on her mother