My Mother - Poem by Peter Hall
Her Father and brother appear smaller and smaller
through the tear blurred back window of the Austin A40
the separation of Mother and Father was for her good...
so they said.
The memory scars the heart
dulls the feminine senses.
These graves in the mind
bring her strength of soul.
The wisdom of her times
are transferred by affection and not words of advice.
Her flowered kitchen apron
expresses her love and mind.
Her faith in Christ: her strength yet purpose
are preached by wordless sermonettes.
This is a life that reaches
deep into the unreachable.
Comments about My Mother by Peter Hall
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You