Mother

I wrote this in 1988 and recorded it in January 2018.

"I dreamed a vivid dream last night
That was true beyond all truth.
I saw my lovely mother
As she had been in her youth.

I saw her down on bended knee
Arthritis none, nor care.
I saw my mother by her bedside,
So young, so strong, so fair.

Her hands were clasped, she prayed to God,
As she did every night,
That he would guard her only child
And keep him safe till light.

And if it came to pass that he
Needed me, her son,
Would he not, perhaps,
Take her instead,
For she was twenty one,
And he had blessed and kept her,
She was in debt to her protector,
Where I was only young.

But, in the end,
His will be done.

I saw my mother transform into
A frail and grey, small ghost.
It was difficult for me to comprehend
Which vision I loved the most.

I saw her pray the very same prayer,
In coma I cried, 'no!
Let it be me, I'm ready, Lord, 
If it's time for me to go!'

Then all was black and peaceful.
Then all was white and pain!
Then the doctors, they were telling me
How I was well again.

'And my mother? Where's my mother?'
As I fell back asleep.
And somewhere in my aching dreams
A little boy did weep.

My sweet and saintly mother,
So tentative, unlucky;
So stoical and battleworn,
So generous and so plucky,
And laughing, warm and loving
And dependable and caring.

Yet again you got it wrong, Ma,
For life's beyond all bearing
Without you here to mend me,
When circumstances rend me
And my heart is torn and tearing."