May 12
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Mother

The word encompasses all
Nature caring for her fragile children
A writer carefully crafting words she has written
A gardener nurturing plants she’s been given
Guiding a van down a road constantly driven

Mother
She helps flowers grow tall
For sun and cool water they’ve striven
It’s thanks to her for this life they’re living
The plants’ first growth is where we’re beginning
And her job never ends, perpetually trimming

Mother
Sometimes trees can fall
But she always replants them, grinning
Roots back in the ground, they’re winning
Drinking in golden water, sun never dimming
Once again in calm air they’re swimming

Mother
Vines climb up her wall
To her certain backbone they’re clinging
And they drink in the sun as it’s singing
And these vines grow strong from their pinning
To the wall, the gardener can watch them climbing

Mother

She watches her vines strengthen, her flowers blossom, her trees grow
They rise above her green thumbs into a world they don’t know
At times they will falter, with poisoned water and moonlight, but even so
There is no place in this wide garden they would happen to go
Without the warming memory of her nurturing hands
Whether it be concrete jungle, rolling hills, burning sands
No matter the distance, nor the uncertainty of their plans
They will always be plants growing, passengers in her van

 
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