Lake Posted May 24, 2009 Share Posted May 24, 2009 Mother The nightstand lamp cast its soft light around us. You opened the drawer, took out a newly matted picture. Smiled shyly. The photographer could not erase the marks from the years printed on your face, but put a bridal veil over your then young smile. There's no woman who doesn't love being beautiful. In those days when the rain flooded streets, wind pulled up tree roots, you were like the sparrow under Turgenev's pen, tucking your fledglings under your wings till the torrents drew back, the gale turned into a gentle hiss. There's no mother who doesn't love her children. I've written songs to mountains and rivers, sun and moon, birds and flowers; I've written tributes to my father, friends, and hometown. You, an unceasing creek hidden in the forests, murmurs, meanders, quietly along its course. Yet, I have never dedicated to you a love song. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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