the dress

the dress

shots of whiskey and tears to cry

I watch my mother hope to die

it’s moments like these I wish I could lie

it’s burning in flames, right in front of her

and all I can do is be silent and hug her

It’s amazing how something so little, can mean so much

from the very first moment, it came to your touch.

It’s a dress;

a child’s dress.

It belonged to her, or at least it used to be

And I see her cry, in front of me

and in front of the flames

She cried for a dress that she would never see again