Music harmonically playing in my mind, reminding me
of childhood when my Mom would play her harmonica
for us.
Captive audience, listening intently and marveling
at how she was able to get such beautiful sounds
and melodies out of something so small it could be
held in her hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful remembrance of anybody's golden period of childhood and that also clubbed with none other than dear and loving Mom! ! Beautiful in deed. Very nice RoseAnn.