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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #1172713
We still need the assurances of Mom's love, even as adults.

I was Momma's happy child,
her baby who never cried.
She taught me to smile
that toothy grin she loved.

As the summers passed,
she fed me; watched me grow.
But Momma's happy child
was never too big to hug.

Momma's happy child feared,
the years it took me to mature
took away from her youth.

Momma's child sheds tears
in her waning years
learning life's tragic truth.

Momma chews her food slow;
needs to be helped from her bed,
but she teaches me still
that toothy grin she loves.

As winter chill sets in;
I feed her, watch her grow old.
I'm still Momma's child.
I still need her to hug.

© Copyright 2006 Brian Keith compton (ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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