Chickadee

My mother loved a little porcelain chickadee that I gave her a couple of months before she died. When she became really too ill to be coherent, she would look at that little china figure and talk to it like it was real..she would tell me that its bright little black eyes were looking at her as the little bird cocked its head. I have the porcelain bird now and think of her each time I gaze at the dear little thing. So, that is why I like your poem.

Thank you, keep-sakes are a wonderful thing to have.