Mother

Mother folds her hands
As twilight grows near
A stance almost prayer like
Before the dusk
And the ink black of night sets in
Holding ever close to her heart
To her soul
All the loves of her life
Come and gone
Silence breaks the still
As mothers hands open
To a long awaited acceptance
A requiem for yesterday
And a Novena for tomorrow

The Cats In The Cradle

October,8,2010

poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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