Mother
Mother as wise as Solomon,
beautiful as the purple flush of dawn,
eyes like eccentric moons that quiver in some stationary tarn,
her love dwells like moonlight in my face,
we are familiar to her as a screenplay,
With memory like a sieve,
like a well-ordered cupboard,
ideas spreading with the speed of light,
succeeding each other like an empire of sovereigns,
her words kept ringing in my ears like the ding-dong of a bell.
As flexible as a rubber band,
her smile flashed over her face, like brightness over a flower,
her laugh is like a rainbow-tinted spray,
her words sound like wavelets on a summer shore,
her voice soft and sweet as a tune that one knows.
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