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MOTHERS
I think that I shall never see
a brush surpass the artistry
That brings to bud the eve or morn
a helpless little babe is born
The delicate maternal bloom
that sheds a fragrant new perfume,
That nutures with the nectar of
a sweet and freely flowing love
And fills her field with beauty spread
by outstretched arms and sun-turned head.
Art can tap one well or other,
but only God can make a mother.
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by Jennifer Mae
Someone should have warned us,
How difficult it would be
To raise our little Joey
And keep our sanity
He started off so cuddly
Parent
You must be wise enough to know
to make them stay will make them leave.
You must know when to let them go.
Yet, if they
MOTHERS
I think that I shall never see
a brush surpass the artistry
That brings to bud the eve or morn
a helpless little babe
Mom and Dad
Who's there for us each and every day?
Caring for us in their own special way
Even though we've grown up and moved
by Deb Keen
Mom, isn't a beautiful day?
Mom, how much is two plus two?
Mom, do I really have to get up now?
Mom, I don't want to go to school.
Mom,
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Poetry: Parents
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