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Tiny feet
Tracing the terrace
In summer-scented evenings,
The familiar hankering
Dolloped
With mother's love,
The bruises,
The scratches,
The gush of breeze
On cycle-outings,
The homework,
Done, redone and undone,
The rush of growing up
In the shade of
Pink, blue, yellow, red, green,
Yes the bloom visits
Us every holiday season.
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Nicely done, and for this old lady, bittersweet. Mine are all grown up and flown from the nest.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for visiting The Netherworld.
Thank you so much for visiting, Wanda. I am glad you enjoyed reading this little piece.
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