I think of my Mother - Lachlan & Skye

I think of my mother, of the one who brought me into the world, These thoughts come back to me from when her days were heavy, when sorrow weighed upon her like a wave rolling in. She had an open gaze, and strength, and love. Where does it all go, where has it gone to now? In what forgotten corner of the world does it still rest? I think of my mother, of the one who brought me into the world, These thoughts come back to me from when her days were heavy and worn, She had an open gaze, and strength, and love. Sorrow where the tide comes in and dies, where it dies upon a distant shore. A sadness that submerges me and breaks me, where the moon descends and is no more. Where did it go, carried off by the breeze? I think of the nurse, of the one who stood fast through the worst of it, These thoughts come back to me from when the sick lay dying fast, when fever walked the decks and death was close. She had a steady hand, and nerve, and tireless care. Where does it all go, where has drifted away to. In what grey stretch of sea does is it, that quiet courage? Je pense à ma mère, à celle qui m’a mis au monde, ces pensées-là reviennent quand ses jours étaient lourds, elle avait le regard franc, la force et l’amour. Sorrow where the tide comes in and dies, where it dies upon a distant shore. A sadness that submerges me and breaks me, where the moon descends and is no more. Where did it go, carried off by the breeze? I think of the beautiful, of those who were broken before their time, These thoughts return to me like water rising, cold and slow, when goodness bent its knee and evil stood there. She had a gentle soul, and grace, and a place to go. Where does it all go, where has it fled into for future. In what unmarked and sunless ground does it lie buried? Chagrin là où la marée monte sur la grève, tristesse qui me submerge et me brise, là où la lune descend et s’achève — où c’est parti, emporté par la brise. Sorrow where the tide comes in and dies, where it dies upon a distant shore. A sadness that submerges me and breaks me, where the moon descends and is no more. Where did it go, carried off by the breeze?