Today I found an old poem, in a draw where it had been thrown. That poem had been written by no other, than a wonderful caring Mother. Her humour I had forgotten, I am sorry to say. But the love and humour came flooding back, when I read that poem today. Greif had deceived me, taking the good times away. Those good times were here again, when I found that poem today. I could see that I was a diamond, in her loving eyes. If I'd had a better memory, I wouldn't have been surprised. For she tried so hard to show me, in her own sort of way. That I was someone special, and meant something to her day.