Monday, May 12, 2014

Mother's Day

Standing by the grave of a mother taken too soon,
a short time after attending a delayed bris.
The name with which you leave,
quite different from the one given at birth.
One earned and one given,
One a summary the other a hope.
From all around comes the smell of freshly cut grass,
Which will regrow once again,
nourished by the sun, and the tears,
and the dirt from which we come,
and to which we will return.

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