Tags:
  • Emotional

    Mom

    I was born into your world
    as an infant in your arms I would curl
    you were there to help me grow
    the ways of the world you would show

    Go grab the broom
    and clean your room
    make the bed
    as I so dread
    mowing the yard
    always seened so hard
    wash your clothes
    blow your nose

    Now I am grown
    and into a new
    world I am thrown
    you are not as near
    as I often fear

    Even though I am grown
    I will always be the
    infant curled in your arms

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    ccslim commented on Mom

    03-13-2009

    Lol, Gosh, now I gotta call Mom! Good job!

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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