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Writer's pictureTheresa Baxter

Mother and Son



Halo of grey hair frames her face

Daily she takes her familiar place

Comfy chair and cosy throw

Cheeks lit up by the TV’s glow

Aged senior, retired mother

Not so different from any other

Often forgotten, hard to remember

Rarely stoked like a dying ember

But she is here and she will stay

Though bare distinction 'tween her days

Her shaking hands are soft as silk

Her favorite snack is served with milk

Determined son who's spent and weary

Crinkled eyes not often teary

He cleans her clothes and sets her plate

He always calls should he run late

He cannot leave, there is no choice

Her song would fade without his voice

Today I say please summon kindness

Open eyes grown dark with blindness

Like dust swept out with threadbare broom

Need just a whit to lift the gloom

We have forgotten a generation

That deserves our love and veneration

A sliver of time brings boundless cheer

Restore that connection with someone dear

Such good it will bring

Should we answer the call

Let this mother and son

Set the example for all

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