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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #1819422
A daughter in awe of her mother...
Bright pastels and flowered prints,
Big bows and ruffled patterns,
All stitched by a pianist's hands
With the aid of her faded green Singer,
Another art neglected by her daughter
Who would proudly wear her dress on Sunday,
Twirling around in a flowing skirt,
Laughing as she displays her mother's handiwork,
The making of which she often found a nuisance
Having to hold still, and yet still wriggling
So that she occasionally got stuck with a pin,
(And suspecting it sometimes was with purpose),
When she would rather be off running
To other worlds through the realms of imagination,
Guided by books, by film, by a step out the back door.
A nature lover's and gardener's daughter
Found her love of the outdoors in her mother's yard
Accompanied by her sister and a yellow dog.
A librarian's, poet's and musician's daughter
Found her love of the written word and lyric,
Along with a fascination for the fantastical and the mythic
Adventures writers, and eventually she, created,
Though far too often she wandered off;
Lost in a place and time not her own,
She always returned, following her compass home,
To dutifully pose to take in seams or measure the hem,
For the joy of seeing her mother’s smile
When she danced in the sun on Easter,
Knowing she would find fortune if she ever found
Half the talent for something as her mother had for everything.

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