MAMA’S NOTEBOOK
Mama always had a note book to put things down,
It was covered in flour, blobs of fat, age was shown
On the battered cover, she carried it everywhere,
Yet her little writings she never did with us share.

I wondered what she wrote when she did write,
Something in a little corner or on a page of white,
Sometimes she’d smile and nod her head with glee,
Yet never did curiosity ever totally overcome me.

My brothers and sisters all opened it and looked inside,
Yet this crime from our mother none of them could hide,
I never told on them but somehow mother always knew,
Once I heard them laughing as the book they looked through.

As we grew up and married I kept a little note book too,
Jotted down ideas and thoughts, a good receipt or two,
I found great joy in keeping this little note book of mine,
Maybe as full as my Mama’s was and that would be fine.

Mother became sick and at a good age passed away,
And because I had not peeked, her book came my way,
Little phrases of wisdom, short cuts for my cooking too,
I read that tattered old note book many times through.

Part of my dear mother was in those pages tattered and torn,
The cover all dirty and many of the pages very old and worn,
I’m glad I did not peep inside, to find the treasures long ago,
On the first page a message said, you reap what you sow.

M Ann Margetson April 23, 2002