Mother’s velvet touch – I
I can not forget mother’s velvet touch,
When aspirations of her ghetto boy,
Encroached upon her worry very much,
Unlike the dead expressions of a toy.
She gave me anxious looks, she was such,
A great and lovely lady over much,
The terror and the tenor and the joy,
Was written on her visage, sweet and coy.
But in her prime, when I was just a promise,
A seed, A bud, an idea of a song,
She left me stranded on journey long,
And went away to heaven like blitz.
Now I am crowned with unthought-of success,
But she is out of hearing and access.
