For all the Mother's Days I forgot,
for all your birthdays where I was not.
For all the calls I didn't make,
for all the visits I didn't take.
For not being there to hold your hand,
as you were leaving this life and land.
For not giving you a kiss that day,
upon the death bed on which you lay.
I was your favorite son and I don't know why,
every time we talked you would cry.
I guess I was too much like Dad,
and my presence made you sad.
Now you're gone and your pain is through,
and I don't even have a picture of you.
