Life hasn’t been the same for her,For many long years,
Her once contagious laughter,
Now dances with her fears.
Seems like the days drag along,While the years keep rushing by,
I hold her hand and brush her hair,
Sit alone when I need to cry.
I don’t how she fights to live,
Not sure if she enjoys the warmth of the sun,
I just know she’s not mine to keep.
My little gray haired mother,Still beautiful by the light of the moon,
Time with her is always well spent,
Youth escapes all of us too soon!
© Dianna Doles Petry