The Gift
In quiet gold of autumn's dawn,
sadness fills the wakened sky.
It seems so long that I’ve been gone
a lonely soul begins to cry.
A hand outstretched catches my fall—
touches my life even from afar—
a mother's care, after all,
has more strength than the brightest star.
Conforming to life's rules unfair
and carrying a fearsome weight,
in spite of sickness and despair
her will is strong and spirit great.
Through time she has grown beyond
the pressure of what has been gained.
Unspoken, the voice will carry on.
Unbroken is the golden chain.
I’ve felt the touch, and felt the gift,
treasured memories are my joy—
the smiles that help my spirits lift
turn away the pain and annoy.
With nothing certain ‘round the bend
even when flowers fill the air,
appreciation for my mother and friend—
my gift to you is a prayer.
Copyright © K Cochrane | Year Posted 2010
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