Saturday, May 8, 2010


How many are the poets,
sentimentally to wax...
how many are the burdens that
are yet upon their backs...
how many are the mothers that
inspire poets on...
how many the emotions that
shall nevermore be gone!

How many...
how much...
the queries, the stories, the poems shall NEVER come to end
as the love...the laughs...the tears that mother inspires inside of me are without limits.
Am I any different?
Is my own distinguished from another?
Ah, but the poet can ramble on about the gift that my own is and cause her honor over another only due to the reader!

How many are the poets?
But the reader only knows!
For the mother of me
admiration ever grows!
She that bore me is the one
deserving status great,
therefore, she is the very one
my verses celebrate!

My mother is a gift
that unto God I lift
and pray that He would bless
in spite of me--what mess!!

I love you, mother.
I hope you don't mind that the world is reading this,


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