A Gentle Touch Of A Doting Mother

Not a figment of one's imagination, Is a life of another lived. Nor can one explain a pain endured. Felt as others take this and theirs, For granted. Kept are these wounds to heal, Alone. Sometimes heard, Are those moans and groans to hush. With a wish for them to be gone. Not a figment of one's immagination, Is a life of another lived. Nor can one explain a pain endured. Felt as others take this and theirs, For granted. Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother. The ones unfortunate to know what this is. Some dismiss the hugs given with kisses. The ones not missing, The nourishment a providing of this gives. Kept are these wounds to heal, Alone. Sometimes heard, Are those moans and groans to hush. With a wish for them to be gone. And a healing of a pain eventually goes, Away. Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother. The ones unfortunate to know what this is. And those who are, Fortunate... To know and/or remember, Know memories of 'mama' within them linger.