Mother and Sons

—the soliloquy of a dying mother When I am gone, they will be glad, my sons, All glad. Yet after I am dead Could they forget this dying skeleton upon the bed? Fearfully clinging to life; hating to live Yet fearing death. Could they forget And only remember the warmth of my breath Years ago? Or when the voice did harshly ring, Could they remember the love that forgave this thing? Then some day, perhaps, beneath the crude walls Of some mill, somewhere within a young man's mind may echo, ‘Aue! Kua mate taku Mama. She's dead.’ Or if this other, my eldest, be loosened for a minute From the worries of the other woman, his wife, Then perhaps within his mind may echo also, ‘Aue! Kua mate taku Mama. She's dead now.’ Or in the late evening of a dying day On that last stretch of road home from the mill Perhaps even my youngest may think, ‘Aue! Aue! Kua mate taku Mama.-She's dead. O she's dead now.’ Rowley Habib.

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