Mom
She is like a rocking chair
Back and forth with a cherry air,
Humming hum-hum-hum
Like a carnival full of merry fun;
Her kisses on my face
Crafted a thin smiling trace,
The croissant she baked
Is all gone: the plate is naked.
She calls my name
But it could be the same
As if she just said:
Come here now, young lady:
Mommy’s lap is my nest
Where I love to lay and rest.
Copyright © João Camilo | Year Posted 2013
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