The Mother I Am
I softy brush his hair before he retires to his bed at night,
and I remember the times you softly brushed mine;
I swaddle him tightly and rock him to sleep,
and I remember each night you did the same for me;
When he wakes in twilight and no one else hears, I do.
You held me in those wee hours, as well;
We stroll in the park every other Sunday, the four of us, and
I remember those bright and sunny days with you;
His eyes look up towards me searching, for his identity;
I don't provide that for him, yet I carefully allow
for his own soul to shine through, and I remember
that this is what mothers do...
Thank you for helping me become
the mother I am today.
*Pamela Aaralyn*