Sonnet 590

Born of pure love is every mother’s child,
No cradling arms were yet more soft and warm;
No greater hope exists than her sweet smile
And of her tears, no feelings more forlorn.
Of mortal essence stands no stronger bond;
No greater sacrifice of heart and soul
That one life give until her breath be gone
So her dear brood gain promise in this world.
In all our triumphs, there we see her face;
In all our sadness, yet she comforts there;
Quintessential caring, infinite grace—
To guide us through both gladness and despair.
By Mother’s love, we never walk alone
And where she bides is ever our sweet home.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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