Maturity?

The chair is warm, from the sun

and it feels so good

on my bum.

My mom at my side

shrinking by and by

in this place she lives for

forcing flowers between the rocks

Blooming stubborn.

Solitary, she has been

more so now, moving slowly,

steadfastly from patch of warm light

to heated golden pools 

bathing tired bones 'til they can rest.

Ane we come to her.

We all come to her.

To do, to help

as she asks passively 

yet with great strength of force

"would you like to...?"

if we do

or we don't

we do, anyways.

Some of us on an eternal quest to

please

Whatever it takes to elicit pleasure

which is seldom forthcoming.

The Joy always elusive

So, I sit and BE

with her

and accept resigned contentment instead.

And let it be enough.