Mother Poem by Theresa Helburn
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Mother
I have praised many loved ones in my song,
And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
With empty hand.
Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
For things unsaid;
Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme
Their daily bread.
Saturday, January 4, 2003
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4/26/2024 9:01:56 PM # 1.0.0.1119
