In the shadowed corners of childhood,

I lingered, a restless spirit in the gloom.

My questions, like autumn leaves,

Fell endlessly around her patient bloom.

"Mother," I whispered in the dim light,

My voice a haunting echo in our space.

Annoying? A persistent ghost, perhaps,

Yet she never turned away her face.

Her words cutting through the distance.

Oh, Mother, in your silent strength,

Your love, a muted, yet enduring hue.

In the Plathian night of my soul,

I find the gentlest part of you.