My Bridge |
| by E.W. Richardson |
Mother, as I look back over the years,
I see you there in my memories . . .
soft toned reflections,
like the sun on
a millstone pond at dusk . . .
You've always protected me,
sometimes overly so
and I know you worry,
perhaps too much, trying
to understand my crazy ways . . .
but your love has never wavered.
Your support and insight,
thoughtfulness and encouragement
have been my bridge . . .
a bridge of sighs, smiles and love
that spans the dark chasms
of my existence.
Of all the good things in my life,
those precious things . . .
innumerable stars and rare jewels . . .
you are the most true.
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