Mother's Days
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Maudlin and melancholy draped mother’s form.
Anxiety a constant companion, two girls she bore.
Xylem, the would-he part, came last, more pain
In birthing her only son; she fulfilled her part.
None could say she wasn’t a good wife for the wanderer.
Eternity holds her now, she’s gone, my mother dear.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
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