Partly Cloudy

Partly cloudy, with the odd chance of sunny spells,were conversations with my mother, near the end.Once in a while, calm of voice, at times stormy yells;and moments where she was so hard to comprehend.Then just when frazzled nerves were on their very edgethe sun would shine, and recognition's smile would beamat this small boy, that she did dutifully fledge;then we were both young again, or so it would seem.Before the clouds descend once more, I tell her; sheis why I am, who I am, the self she let me be.