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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Family · #2287604
A Huitain for Poetry Week at The Writer's Cramp. Thoughts of 2023 - for my mother.
Her hands lift - then, like water, fall
translucent, beautiful...so cold.
My mother's dying down the hall.
Her tiny body I enfold;
with eyes of seafoam green and gold.
They've carried weights in waves of years;
behind her gaze, oceans untold...
time bends away as heaven nears.


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