Mother Will Be Leaving Nye
Mother is eighty-seven now
still spry, sometimes naughty,
espousing wisdom from her brow,
her speech never bawdy.
She always dried my tears,
She always calmed my fears,
She always cleaned up smears.
Softly sing a lullaby,
Mother will be leaving nye.
For: QUIETUS (Jan 2022 edition) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Syllable count checked at SyllableCounter.net
January 25, 2022
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