The Secret of the Sunflowers

is one that my mother knows.

How their gaze forever follows the sun,

the more that they grow

and glorious they become!

The late afternoon shadows lay forgotten behind,

they remind me of where our mother taught us

to always turn our minds.

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I’ve got a desire for a cheese sandwich on fresh white bread

Just like my mother used to make

I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever taste one again

You know, not any old cheese sandwich

But the ones my mother used to make

On cold winter evenings

She’d serve stew and dumplings

And her poached eggs on toast was a wonderful feast

Not ordinary eggs

But the ones like my mother...

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