Coming Home

It is many winters since I was last  here.
But they all looked like this one.
The old farmhouse is covered with snow.
So sweet and quaint Victorian style.
with the glowing golden warmth in the windows.
welcoming smoke rising from its chimney.

They say the snow brings a purity to the earth
perhaps like a soul in a state of grace.
everywhere is white and pure
So much white like the lilies
Like your now pale skin

the snowflakes taking a respite,
now the stars spangle in the blue night sky
a full moon is watching from above,
lighting the meadow, its furrows
smoothed by last night’s snowfall.

I had seen her again today
White of face as pure as the snow herself.
I bent forward to kiss her lifeless lips.
They were cold as ice
yet the room was warm.
Remembering her sweet
warm kisses as she tucked
me in my bed as a child,
her face so lovely to me.

It is fitting it has snowed
as she leaves us.
it will match her own purity of soul
gained from a lifetime on the land.

Leaving I turn for the last time
into the Christmas card
scene of the farmhouse in snow.
Whispering softly.
Rest well my angel
I love you Mom.