Hard Your Place To Fill

I doubt, God thought of Mother's matchless love, As some said He can't be every which where, Nor yet because He's far and high above, And hardly would have justice done, and fair. Few things God made man ever can replace: Birth, life, death, rains— among many of worth, Stands Mother's Love atop with heaven's grace, Even gods grieve, not blessed are they with birth. Of punctuations, her love's a period! Or else, perhaps an exclamation mark, All else but also ran second and third, Sole luminance, the source she's of their spark, Inimitable if there's not a thing, Mother's Love, I'd say never is ‘a thing'! ____________________________________________________ Sonnets | 22.03.2017 |