She dropped free flowing the petals, in her daily travel,
Just a hand shake or movement and they'd gently unravel.
As the sky drops its stars and the waves drop their sand.
Her petals dropped quietly all over the land.
Finding one of her petals, we'd say, filled with the devil.
"Oh! Mother dear, it does appear you've dropped a little petal.
Her action of retrievement, by tucking into strap or sleeve,
To our delight forced other petals there, to take their leave.
At all birthday parties and on every Christmas night,
A batch of photos taken of Mum all show tiny bits of white.
Clutched in hand, or at a sleeve, or nestling round her shoes,
Were her lovely little petal friends, in more than ones and twos.
She was a 'petal' person, on bus or on a train,
She always took them while out walking or on a jumbo plane.
Leaving petals, in her wake in a manner very grand,
Her petals dropped like autumn leaves, from sleeve and from her hand.
At the Kiwi wedding of her darling child, she left the petal-trail.
The petals travelled to New Zealand, it was their holy grail,
To appear in every wedding shot, in that frigid foreign land.
and make a 'petal protest' against the man who took her baby's hand
From a myriad of mum's old handbags, came petals white and soft,
So good for waving us goodbye, when held up high aloft.
From behind all lounge chair cushions, mum's petals could be found,
Squashed sadly flat within the fluff, or very finely ground.
It is no lie, but solemn truth, the petals bred like rabbits,
Ensuring their survival, because of mum's petal- dropping habits.
And true it is they'd hide away, before mum went out, to the store,
And puzzled, she'd declare, 'No petals - I'd better get some more!'.
We called them mum's little petals, so freely they did fall,
She'd use them to do everything, or use them not at all.
Huge piles of petals, found a cosy haven in mum's friendly place,
To be firmly held while writing letters and always while saying Grace.
Each small petal, waited patiently, its brief moment of petal- glee.
As Mum gave her "Petals of Kleenex" their one chance to be free.
I'll bet there are soft white petals in heaven, without number or end,
For mum to drop and scatter, or just hold and to tend.