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My Mother's Day Poem
Her face is hard to look upon.
I read the lines between her brow.
How long have I known this woman?
Did she look as she does now?
The bags beneath her eyes are worn
from years of catching tears.
To think I thought this little mouse
protected me from fears.
Her face is hard to look upon.
It angers me to see
the woman I thought was made of steel
is rusting to debris.
Have I ever seen her smile?
Or are my memories a dream?
Her eyes are grey and hollow now,
was there ever any gleam?
Her face is hard to look upon.
It makes me empty in my core.
I loose feeling in my fingertips,
to smile becomes a chore.
Shut my eyes! Think happy thoughts!
Don't sink into despair.
Just try, again, to make her proud.
Bring that glow that is so rare.
Her face is hard to look upon.
So I try not to look at all,
because when I see the pain she feels
I fear I too may fall.
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This peom was inspired by my mom. She asked me to do her make, as usual because she has hurt herself to the poit where it hurts to lift her arms.