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Mom Mom
In my mother’s later years,
nearly everyone called her ‘Mom Mom.’ Receiving word that
Mother’s race was almost run, I ran a mental interview of
her life and wrote this poem, which was read by my oldest
son, Chuck, and presented at her funeral.
Mom Mom
For all the days of life
Old age sets in a little each day.
The war on life takes its toll
Without asking, without knowing.
First she turned gray, now she has grown old.
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With a glow on her cheek,
She traveled from her chair to her feet.
The journey took a while.
High in spirit she wobbled to and fro.
In fear, not nearly as agile as she used to be,
more frail than ever before.
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Life offered her hard times, heaped high with a heavy load.
Day by day she taut a tight rope.
Our family is simple -- people poor and proud.
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She was a trusted friend to whoever came to her gate.
She greeted them and shared her smile.
Her kind words puffed your sail to a soft degree.
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She loved to inhale the passage of her times,
Then came a notable sparkle of pride in her eyes.
She tasted it again and again with added charm.
She was as happy as the grass was green.
Pondering about her years gone by.
Some of her sayings still buzz my ear.
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