The Mother’s Love

The mother does not love in broken parts
As one divided by the strains of self
But as the voice of nature’s purest art,
Divine in spark yet with the glow of health.
For love that speaks, “you are my very own”
Can cross with ease the gulfs that wind between
We island people biding time alone
And drowned within the dream’s unearthly sheen.
For love like this thinks nothing of exchange,
Instead it lavishes upon the shore
These waves of light and life that can arrange
To calm the world’s incessant ocean roar.
The mother loves with love that, whole, can bear
Those children who abide in her soul’s care.

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