When I look at my rusty amazing pram
And search for your peculiar fragrance Mom!
Then I remember that you take me out often in those days
And listen to my prattle patiently.
Still I hear your precious fading lullabies
And I walk towards the humble graveyard
Where you rest with others quietly Mom!
* A kiss from my mother
Made me a painter.
-Benjamin.West
Very beautiful. Nothing that is precious is ever truly lost as long as our memories are alive and well. Take care. Always your friend, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tenderness tiptoes through your beautiful words of remembrance. Nostalgia without sentimentality. A fine poem. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥