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My Mother's Love
by Michael Escoubas
Looking back I'm with her now
my small hand lost in hers.
We're off on one of our
many walksit was the walks
we took in early spring
that I remember best
there was a fragrance
in the air as we picked
our way carefully among
the bluebells and yellow
daffodils. She said, take care,
let's not trample beautiful
things. There were robins
and red birds on the way,
the air was crisp and chilled.
We wore light wraps-her strong
hands were always warm. I loved
our walks but I would have loved
them even without the blue bells
and daffodils, because all that really
mattered was the love I felt
in the confident swish of my
mother's dress and my small
hand safely hidden in hers.
Photo Credit: Pat Kunkel
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