My Mother
She was the frailest of creatures ever
Pretty and white, delicate as a rose
Possessed sharp memory and very clever
A kind heart and gentle frown above her nose
Never strict, would always let go
Busy with her writing and household chores
Hated needle work and didn’t know how to sew
Would always love a picnic outdoors
Never thought too highly of her
Until the day she fell sick
Said softly typically sweet and demure
Of life’s deep mystery and funny trick
‘I know I am weak’, said mommy dear
In health and character since beginning
But always kept this prayer short and clear
Never to give my child my ending
I cried for days when she said this
Loving her fragility more than ever
Her true love shone through this pure bliss
That she bestowed on her daughter with cheer
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