Analysis of Simple Pleasures

On your knee, in the lamplight
dipping buttered toast in your coffee,
I hear the hush of the silent house.
The other children gone off to school,
you and I sit together
alone in the dim morning light
full of love and trust
chattering to one another about
simple times with unfurrowed brows.
We were so close then.
I hold that memory in my mind
like an old black and white photograph
one would carry in a wallet worn soft
from years of riding in a back pocket
a photo
showing the ones you love
the most beautiful mother
the best loved and dearest held
the treasured one--
to be shown far from home.