Clasping hands,

smelling the honeysuckle

on a country road,

admiring a tree

magnificently gnarled,

I'm with my friend.

She's quick to cry;

sympathy without boundaries,

and generous passion,

Her soul belongs to beauty.

She's a mother.

Four children;

a husband;

cats,

and a dog;

Messes multitudinous.

She laughs

in spite of it all.

She's our mother.

We love her.

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