DEBT DUE

We take for granted; who indeed feels, clear,

the day will come, when we shan’t have what’s here?

So many ways to go, one thing, another.

The child does not have time enough for mother.

We take what mother does, blasé, unthinking.

She’s glad to make us feel she’s not for thanking.

We tell ourselves: We’ll make time to remember.

Then, in a moment chilling, woeful sombre

the mother’s eyes close that were watchful, tender.

There is a debt we’d pay. But there’s no lender.