Assignment 

Do you still write my dear? my mother asked me.
You used to write beautiful poetry and stories.
I wonder: in what kind of world we are living in...
Do you want some more tea? I mean: all that trite,
they write about things for which there are no words.
She looked up at me. I don't understand why people are drowning  themselves in the maelstrom of this time. - come on dear, do something about it. Especially you. 
You are capable to create something of value for this life,
with as incentive the word of the Lord that is given to us?

She looked at me. She was grabbing her last chance:
Something to laugh about then, maybe. She smiled.