When I was young,

I often clung,

to many little things.

I'd reach up high,

again retie,

my mama's apron strings.

I sometimes did,

what mom forbid,

although she'd make it clear.

Thoughts still linger.

I remember,

through each fleeting year.

Acquainted still,

her stories thrill,

with many left untold.

I can't go back,

though mem-ries track,

to years I'd rather hold.

I'm lost in thought,

it can't be caught,

despite my futile search -

mama singing,

mama bringing,

this small boy to church.

Though I was touched,

and changed so much,

through Christ, the perfect One -

I cannot stay,

time slips away,

from all that she had done.

I try to grasp,

and hands I clasp,

around those many things -

but mem-ry strands,

slip through my hands -

just like those apron strings.

I miss her so.

Emotions show.

There's moistness in my eyes.

I can't withhold,

though I am old,

my oft guilt-ridden cries.

Though sometimes sad,

I'm always glad,

whenever I think of -

my mama's cares,

my mama's prayers,

and her most precious love.