Stuart David Smith BSc. Poems

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,
...