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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required This poem is a special devotion for my mother, who has always been a healing sun for these wintry eyes. Mumma, you're my hope, my strength, my magic and my heartbeat. I'll always find my fairy-lights in your soul, as you're my home, where this child will always return after playing with solemn sunsets. Happy birthday to you.. "Mum, you are a barbie q u e e n, for this fruity fairy, as we t r a c e watermelon skies, fluttering around the k i w i moon, concocting i c y peach elixirs from shiny shawls of cashmere l u n a r beams" As we both snorkel with crystal fins of clarity, in turquoise seas of the marine edens, waving to the watercolor spirits of dusky nymphs, our souls sing in the ocean's heart, encasing solemn sighs in conch shells, that got lost within sirens of aquamarine. Evermore, liberated beyond the haze of sepia gulfs that chained us, beneath ~ timeless tapestries, we trail footprints of cherished lilies in mauve hail, falling upon sandy shorelines. I'm a baby blossom, resting upon emerald sepals, of her crimson elegance; my cherry lips spin seafoam spells, for you ~ my red diamond swan, flying with pistachio feathers. Can you hear my heartbeats, throbbing beneath the pillow of pink roses, sewn with the fragrance of your pearly ardour, mumma? I'm a daughter of an Angel, whose cape of arctic moonrise, swathes every aching eye, with milky light of cosmic faith. She spreads a carpet of aliferous Auroras, allowing my tears to dance on its feathery peacock wings. She's the lifeline of constellations, which twinkle like kins of the wayfinder's galaxy. She's more than a bejeweled brushstroke of Van Gogh, ribboned with strawberry stars, smeared with fairy-glow of divinity. Inhaling comets of creamy compassion, she's a warrior with dahlia sword, melting every jade eye's evil aroma, to buttery flakes of symphonic soothe. I no longer search for oceanic archangels, for I've found my healing home, in her sunflower dreams. She's the vanilla warmth for the aching Himalayan snow, a glare of peaceful amulets for shivering life, and the sweetest melody of sugarplum sonatas; mumma, you are my seventh heaven. Carving the saga, of a celestial Queen and her princess, eclectic epitaphs will harmonize in ethereal hymns of rhapsody, knitted by a cosmic mother for her raspberry sapling. You'll always be that last zephyr of cathartic mantras, which will envelop my heartbeats in hydrangea hues.
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