She’s still my little Mother, who’s following my track.
The one who counts forever, the one who has my back.
And when the storm is roaring, on any rainy day,
I know she’s out there looking and keeping things at bay.
1. The early days of walking, the funny steps of sway,
I hid down in the garden, behind a pile of hay.
A wild dog scent the quarry, a meal for free at last,
but never saw what hit him, just stricken by the blast.
2. And when I walked the city, long miles away from home.
Alone in dark and pity, I heard a ringing dome.
The bell was strangely muted, but sounded in my ears,
I sensed a shape behind me, who cured me from my fears.
3. When rainy days were coming and friends were checking out,
and someone starts to wonder, what life is all about.
But when I had to wander, where all the hopeless meet,
her laughter filled the corner, of every empty street.
4. And when the hymn is ending, and the choir’s tuning out,
I hear a gentle whisper, a voice of hope, no doubt.
Back home the floor is creaking, a wind blows down my neck.
I see the door is open, I know my Mom is back.
2018 © Torbjorn Gideskog
STILL MY LITTLE MOTHER