OUR FINGERS ENTWINED LIKE RIBBONS OF LIGHT. It was her gentle touch when I was little that taught me how to love. It was her kind words that taught me how to care. It was her comfort when sad and her laughter when happy. She’d been there from my birth but, as we grow older, we learn nothing mortal will live forever.
Her face grown old, her touch no longer strong, I watch her making her age-worn way no longer spry. Another Mother’s Day and I treasure the moments I know can’t last. It was her who now needs my hand to help her along her way.
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