Amber Raspberries

Old Jock and Marie Anne could never find Raspberries of the glowing amber kind To fill the “ancient porcelain bowl.” (’Twas lined With amber glaze; outside a gold vine wound In such a graceful pattern round and round.) But if my Mother looked she always found Enough to fill the bowl. That day we’d three Distinguished guests. I loved to have them see My lovely Mother as she looked at tea.... Her gown of creamy lace--her shining hair, Her beads of old carved amber ... all her rare Fragile soft richness, like the berries there With their pale amber bloom. I loved her so.... I wished that every body there could know.... “Why don’t you eat your berries, Child?” ... then low I bent my head to hide two burning tears Of yearning love. How strange those vague cold fears My child heart knew that day ... what long long years Since those last lovely hours of ecstasy When she made Beauty live and thrill for me.