There once was a girl, seven years old
Whose mother died from poison,
Or so the story is told.
The girl grew up; angry, afraid
Of monsters and darkness,
And the shadows she made.
She married, had children, lived in despair
For she wished more than anything
That her mother was there.
The world was against her, or so she believed
Her body ached with agony, even with
Every prayer she weaved.
Her children married, had children, and lived in despair
For their mother was unhappy
And her pain they could not bear.
She had three grandchildren, radiant and bright
They ran to her and hugged her
With all their might.
She looked at her children and grandchildren
The love that they shared, and realized then
Her mother had always been there.
writingsformydaughters 