Poetry child for mother
I'm opening a blue album
full of dust and worn out
I looked at all the pictures of myself
small clean yet tarnished
I thought hovering
it used to be loving
remembered all the stories of people
about my history
they say I'm always pampered
they said myself always cuddled
beautiful tone
always unraveling from it
a naughty cry from my lips
will not be his pain
smooth and holy hand
have lifted this self
body and whole life
willingly he gave
oh mother is there and no
you will always be inside
my heart.
This poem touches on the heartfelt without becoming saccharine. Natural verse with an un-elevated tone.
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