13 May 2012

Mother

Home and flower garden in La Roche-sur-Yon, France.
She was my universe
and touched my needy life,
ope’d windows to my heart
and embryonic mind.

All living worlds then
lay veil’d in mist, but she
spoke colors for the birds
that twittered in the trees.

With open hand she held
and taught me how to trust,
even when I climbed trees
she didn’t want to watch.

My mind its passion learned
because she loved the truth;
my heart its reason drew
from her sensibility.

Now from a wider view,
her mother, father passed,
I see another truth:
Mother was a child too.

So now I share this love
in somewhat halting verse
in words I wouldn’t have
had she not loved me first.

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