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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2315436
A poem from me to thee


Oh, dearest mother, gentle and wise,

Your love, a beacon that never dies.

Through storms and sunshine, you stand tall,

Guiding my steps, lest I should fall.

Your hands, weathered by life’s toil,

Yet tender as petals on morning soil.

You cradle dreams, whispering hope,

In your embrace, my heart finds scope.

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