I hear her playing this accompaniment, and although she never lived beyond middle age (unlike this poem's protagonist), this is penned in tribute to a woman who was always a friend to anyone who needed her. She wrote beautiful poetry, but raising three children alone gave her little time to pursue her own passions. My fondest memories are of her at the piano, or seated at our old, chrome table in one of many rented apartment kitchens, scratching out another masterpiece.

She saw to it that her children's lives were full of music; Daneill - dance, Dennis - piano, and me - voice.

(My rusty, old voice can no longer sing this for you, Mom, but my heart sings it for you always...)

Video courtesy of YouTube.

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