I never thank you for being the sole orange-blossom in my garden. Laughter fills your pockets and spills into the air like bubbles, adhering to all who pass. Only you know how to turn anger into flowing yellow carnations and chocolate swirls. Vibrant amber sun-eyes glint on your face; you elevate me with your common sense and faith. Every night, when I was little, you crocheted a quilt of stories in my head so I could sleep. Your touch turns my tears into dragon-flies fluttering Off my cheeks, reminding me that I am never alone. Upon my shoulders, I wear your strength as a jacket against the cold.
An acrostic poem about my mom and all she does for me