Those years passing by you, mornings climbing
workward, evenings tipping homeward, I watched
you laze on your side, headless but alive,
sloping breasts on show even when snow fell.

when your time is no longer measured by clocks,
but the spaces between your breaths, ripplings
on the Severn below your window, sightings
of kingfishers, darting turquoise down muddy banks.

When a daughter brings evergreens in winter,
promises tulips in candied rows come spring, 
you might think your nurturing done,