There is but one Mother, My Mother;
So Pure, so Perfect, there could be no other.
I cannot bear the thought of ever losing you,
For all, and I mean All, that you do.
...
There was one, lonely rose of white;
For all the others were crimson red.
We then had such tragic news that night,
When told our Sherry was laid to bed.
...
Whatever be your true Faith,
As believers or doubters,
It matters not;
Your Children now live in peace,
...
Mother, My Mother
There is but one Mother, My Mother;
So Pure, so Perfect, there could be no other.
I cannot bear the thought of ever losing you,
For all, and I mean All, that you do.
You are so Essential to my life;
Stand by to Calm all my Strife;
To this End, you make every Sacrifice;
There is no one else So Beautiful, So Nice.
All the Archangels will Never reach your Height,
For here on earth, all the Battles you do Fight.
You are always, I repeat Always at my side;
You are forever present as my guide.
The Rose is only a Beauty, just a Glimmer
Of the Magnificence of your inner Core.
The thorns on your otherwise fragile Stalk
Represent the Hurt that you so often Balk.
You are my Mom; You gave me the World
And as the Years go by, I too grow old;
I know your Sacrifices, to Assure that I am well;
My Love and Appreciation, no words could ever tell.
a very nice and touching poem! ! ! keep it up! !