A Gentle Touch of a Doting Mother

Not a figment of one's imagination,
Is a life of another lived.
Nor can one explain a pain endured.
Felt as others take this and theirs,
For granted.

Kept are these wounds to heal,
Alone.
Sometimes heard,
Are those moans and groans to hush.
With a wish for them to be gone.

Not a figment of one's immagination,
Is a life of another lived.
Nor can one explain a pain endured.
Felt as others take this and theirs,
For granted.

Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother.
The ones unfortunate to know what this is.
Some dismiss the hugs given with kisses.
The ones not missing,
The nourishment a providing of this gives.

Kept are these wounds to heal,
Alone.
Sometimes heard,
Are those moans and groans to hush.
With a wish for them to be gone.

And a healing of a pain eventually goes,
Away.
Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother.
The ones unfortunate to know what this is.
And those who are,
Fortunate...
To know and/or remember,
Know memories of 'mama' within them linger.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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