Like the Burmis Tree, mother you
are our sentinel, our landmark, our muse,
our reminder that love endures.
Like the leaves of the tree, we may no longer flutter
attached to our original branch,
but we do remember our grounding.
You may be like the trunk of the Burmis Tree
with arms still reaching out
as you wait to hold us close, once again.
While you may feel like barren wood
too easily toppled by the storms of life
or surgically attacked
just know we are still near.
We will be like the wire,
helping to restore your stance
to resupport your outstretched arms.
For our memories are filled
with your touch, your words, your caring.
You will always be our first love.
You remain the root of our life,
the bliss beneath all that we do.
We will reach back and wait
with our own open arms,
to hold you close
no matter how far or wide we roam.