the first poem I ever learned as a child
This is one of those nights where I miss my mom. . . while things where tough growing up. . . she was my world. I miss her guidance and security. Plus I miss having someone on my side when my Dad drives me crazy. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Once there were two women who never knew each other.
One you do not remember, the other you call mother.
Two different lives shaped to make you one.
One became your guiding star, the other became your sun.
The first one gave you life, the second taught you how to live it.
The first one gave you a need for love, the second was there to give it.
One gave you a nationality, the other gave you a name.
One gave you emotions, the other calmed our fears.
One saw your first sweet smile, the other dried your tears.
One sought for you a home that she could not provide.
The other prayed for a child and her hope was not denied.
And now you ask me through your tears
The age-old question, unanswered through the years.
Heredity or environment, which are you a product of?
Neither, my darling. Neither.
Just two different kinds of love
Sherri, I know you read this as regularly as I update it. . . this poem was almost a lullaby to me growing up. I wish you could have met my Mom because she loved you to the ends of the earth.
Once there were two women who never knew each other.
One you do not remember, the other you call mother.
Two different lives shaped to make you one.
One became your guiding star, the other became your sun.
The first one gave you life, the second taught you how to live it.
The first one gave you a need for love, the second was there to give it.
One gave you a nationality, the other gave you a name.
One gave you emotions, the other calmed our fears.
One saw your first sweet smile, the other dried your tears.
One sought for you a home that she could not provide.
The other prayed for a child and her hope was not denied.
And now you ask me through your tears
The age-old question, unanswered through the years.
Heredity or environment, which are you a product of?
Neither, my darling. Neither.
Just two different kinds of love
Sherri, I know you read this as regularly as I update it. . . this poem was almost a lullaby to me growing up. I wish you could have met my Mom because she loved you to the ends of the earth.