The Windows of My Soul: That Poem (#289)

That Poem (#289)
© Brenda
July 3, 1992 2:00 am

You think nothing of my poem
It’s just Mom, doing her thing.

You bump the table where I write
Spilling ink upon my rhyme.

You call me away from inspiration
Shattering my concentration.

It’s only ~ that poem
And Mom, doing her thing.

Years from now, Someone
Whom I will never know

Will say ~ That poem!
It dreams, it sings, it prays aloud.

It weeps with sorrow
Or laughs with love.

They will cry or smile
And admire my mind.

But, you really know
It’s only Mom, doing her thing.

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