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If one comes
Between
A man and his dog,
One would be a target.

Should one come
Bbetween a man
And his cat,
Well,
That's
Something
Rarely heard of.
♡♡♡♡ Mothers wisdom♡♡♡♡
♡♡♡♡♡is an endless♡♡♡♡♡
♡♡♡♡♡♡Need♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

~~~~~God gives it birth~~~~~
~~~~~At the planting of~~~~~
~~~~~~~~The seed~~~~~~~

~~~~Instinct sets forth~~~~~
~~~~~~In her heart~~~~~~~
~~~~Love for her child~~~~~
~~~~~~Never parts~~~~~~

Age becomes a meaningless word
A mothers compassion and strength for
♡♡♡♡♡♡her child♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
♡Last longer than her voice is heard♡
₩€ND¥

For my Mama~~ I love you!
 Oct 2015 Ricci Moon ScottBCM
r
Listen, it's a beautiful thing
when distilled to its essence;
reduced to its purest form.
A paradox and a paradigm;
a paragon of perfection.
Epic in its arythmetic
progression; poetic.
Like Chinese arithmetic,
so hard it hurts. Yet soft
and exquisite, like a bubble
of love caught in a beating heart.
That place where poetry starts.
 Oct 2015 Ricci Moon ScottBCM
r
If you think of me in the spring,
think of dogwood petals
in my hair, greener grass
and new beginnings.

If the summer solstice
finds you walking alone
in the garden of the moon,
remember that I'm somewhere
walking alone, too.

If you sing of me,
sing in the fall
in blue flannel and jeans
like the saddest song of all.

And if I pretend to die,
and you pretend to weep,
I promise to do it in the winter
when there are no flowers
to send in your pretended grief.
:)  Thanks for the inspiration.
Grandma, sing a lullaby
The fine tune you made for me

I want all the fireflies, the
Glass bottle and light an entire night

Where are my milkweeds
Aeroplanes, milk and honey?

I stood with my umbrella
And the wind took it with her

For the tempest outside my land
And no news returned

There’s my Grandma, her voice
That ooze out of my walls

You’re the bride, the picture
The house and a forgotten lullaby

Grandma, sing a lullaby
The fine tune you made for me
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
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