In Memory of my Mother

It's hard to explain why I find it hard to write about my mother. Is there nothing to be said about the love and care she lavished on me and my siblings, or do I think the role of mother is so humdrum that I  cannot find a poetic lift in it; is it that that role is so intermeshed in my life that I cannot separate the threads, or  have I not got the words nor art to match the love? Whatever it is, these six lines are all I've managed to date.

                                                        

 

           In Memory of my Mother

 

She was

 

Two cups of flour resourceful

 

Plumb-line straight

 

Three sides of a triangle logical

Rain-coat wise

Five woollen blankets caring.