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It was a feeling like I wished I had had more--
Mother tucking me into bed when I was three or four.
She'd kiss me on the cheek and quietly close the door.
'Ere sleep stole me, I knew no one was loved more.

Mother's arms were my world--soft, sweet, secure.
Her voice was gentle; it told me angels were real.
She carried me with a tight clasp, my safety to ensure.
And when it was bedtime, beside my bed she'd kneel.

Nothing is endowed with power like maternal love.
It supersedes all the evils mortality is apt to enact.
Its supremacy was crafted by He who is above;
thank God my angel Mother practiced that as fact.

By poetryaa3

© 2019 poetryaa3 (All rights reserved)


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