Tiptoeing Poem by nimal dunuhinga
Tiptoeing
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
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5/3/2024 9:59:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Tenderness tiptoes through your beautiful words of remembrance. Nostalgia without sentimentality. A fine poem. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥