Thistle Down

By Ethel

Mother

Within my heart,
I often share.
Precious moments,
With my mother there.

Thoughts come sweet,
To my caress.
Enveloping me,
In tenderness.

I see her face,
And all the while.
The lovely presence,
Of her smile.

Never can I,
Quite repay.
Nor memories of her,
Cast away.

She was my own,
From heaven above.
And to her I sing,
A..."Song of Love".


E.P. 1908 - 1989

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