When I was small,
I could climb under your wing.
Like a suit of armour,
your love would protect me.

As I was growing,
I would try to outgrow the armour.
Yet your wing was still there,
like a cloak to hide my nakedness.
And heal the wounds,
that life would deal.

Now I am grown,
the armour has grown with me.
Yet throughout all the knocks,
it has never tarnished or dented.
It shines with a glow,
like a flame from a candle.

Yes, I am grown,
but I will always need your wing.
Like a beacon in an ocean of darkness,
I will always find your wing.

A poem written by Jacqueline, younger daughter of Sandy Boswell from La Marmite restaurant in Confolens), for Mother’s Day some years ago