My mother’s gone, she’s gone away,
She was here just in the morn,
We were talking of the daily news,
And by lunchtime she was gone.
She told me she had left the house and
moved up on the hill.
That the other house just wasn’t right
and this one fit the bill.
The house on the hill had everything,
the same as the one below.
She cannot find the toilet,
her bedroom has gone west.
And there’s people in the bookcase,
so she’s sure to get no rest.
So she’ll sit there in the dark,
for no reason that you’ll guess,
and she’ll not enter into her room no matter how you ‘stress’.
And she’ll wander round and round the house with her walker packed on high,
with the items she must take with her, around to the other side.
When will someone take her,
home to where she wants to stay?
We’re all so cruel to leave her, we should just all go away.
But then there is a glimmer of my mother; she’s come back,
and wonders what I fuss about, which throws me right off track.
She’s back to giving cheek, and comments they abound,
my mother’s back at least for now, for now she has been found.