There is no more, mother
than to live to see what tomorrow brings
none of us has decades to plan for
it's always just one day at a time
living for little pleasures
while we can still breathe and walk
nothing, mother, nothing more than that
you may have fewer days than I
maybe not
no reason to worry
no reason to fret
death is an old friend whom we see but twice
whom we met at birth
and who welcomes most of us much later
if only I could teach you, mother dear
to breath each breath sweetly
as though it were your last
and sip each draught deeply
since soon, no matter how many days you have
soon your lips will be dry
all we have until we die
are days
one
or a thousand
relish each one