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About This Poem
The mother that loved me and the one that let me go
You in sorrow let me go
oh, love that will not let me go.
For we knew not; what now we know
oh, love that will not let me go.
You, a mother, still a child.
I, a child, still a son.
You were grown before your time -
I was not the only one
suckling at your breast.
You did your very best.
I held you to the test,
with bitter years' unrest.
Now you wish that you had known
the man you now bespeak
you are now the mother grown
the one, that I did seek.
For eighteen years you held me
for forty more I wandered
faces turned away forlorn
time and knowing squandered.
Alas, no more, for we have found,
as you near then end;
more than mother and a son
we call each other friend.
The years of our estrange
surrender as we part
for there has been much change
in matters of the heart.
For the loss we now forgive
we let past fall from our grasp,
as we embrace the lives we live
each other’s hand we clasp.
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