My mum Brenda two years pass. I wish we could meet, just for a minute, following these long winter months dark days that disappear in to the flighting night where I cry in my bed as I know the spring is on its way just as the forecast said. The time of your passing, birthday, Mother’s Day the season where I said my good buys to your cold hands and face your great grandchildren left growing, now young men in their place. The circle continues of dying and birth generations of ancestor that visit the earth. It doesn’t change how much I miss you, your laughter your strength, is always with me, that started at birth. For I now Your body couldn’t go on they tore you away across that stretch of water we call it the pound. I had to check it was you, as they said you where home, I collected your belongings as you passed on alone, but you are the spring for all the flowers arriving on and on you blossom living and thriving.