My Mother is a Milky Way.
A galaxy with a billion stars
brilliantly swirling around her heart.
My father’s rocket has explored
only one one-hundredth of her world.
Like a rose
her petals are deep and generous.
She is magnificently fragrant
and more profound than love.
A flock of little birds rejoice
whenever she enters a room.
Cherubs play their harps
as she prepares our food.
I especially enjoy her mousse.
I don’t know what it is about her
that makes my mind explode.
Yet, the fact is my Mother is
an eternal spring of compassion,
a tabernacle in pearls.
(Image credit: blog.silive.com)
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