Mom
MOM
I can still see her love dripping off her spoon,
hear the eggs sliding into her bowl;
smell the fragrance of her perfume
blending with the cinnamon and nutmeg.
I licked the icing from her spoon
never doubting she would last forever.
But time passed away and so did her mind.
Her bowl is now broken, yet when I bake
I wear the same perfume,
remembering those little things of childhood
when one day seemed like another.
Janet Marie Bingham
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