December 26th 2007

Nineteen years ago today my mum, by bestest friend ever passed away ...there is no grave to tend as was her wish so if I just leave some flowers here and a Mary Webb poem..........

To Mother Christmas 1920

Within the doorway of your room tonight

I stood, and saw your little treasures all

Set out beneath the golden candle light,

While silver chimes haunted the evenfall.

Here was the robin, very round and bright,

Painted by one of us with fingers small,

And childish presents, bought with grave delight,

For many an ancient Christmas festival.

And while I looked, dear mother, I thought of those

Great dreams that men have dreamed - music like flame,

The lovely works of many a deathless name,

Poetry blooming like a fragrant rose;

And knew God kept them in his House above,

As you our gifts, from the greatness of His love.