I still see her
through the eyes of a child
and not through the eyes of the adult
that watched her
slowly die;
as memory by memory
she returned to her childhood,
to her parents house
to the farm
where chickens scratched in the barnyard
and Ring
brought the cows back to the barn
every evening.
I still see Mama
through the eyes of my childhood,
as she made hot chocolate,
baked Christmas cookies,
or helped us
with our homework.
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