Mother`s Perfume

I don’t recall if my mother had a particular scent
Nothing springs to mind, she wasn’t fussy
Little time was spent,
Pruning, plucking, spraying, and tending to herself
Soft tones of her voice, never raised, mixed with gentle words,
Love off the shelf,
A note of kindness blended with a smile
Infused with a warm hug and rays of fresh sun
Smothered on her child
Long walks, the smell of manure, chicken poop, fresh eggs from the farm,
Nurturing her offspring, plants, seedlings, and vegetable garden
The rich scent of calm,
Wafts of peroxide as we pass the hairdressers,
The greengrocers, cod, herring, kippers, aromas of the sea
Smoky hot lard in the chip pan for tea
Mouth-watering smells of freshly baked bread, apple pie, cake left to cool
On a tray outside
Spiky geraniums on the windowsill, I remember well
But perfume on my mother, never, she had her on sweet smell