The Wreathe

They said she’s a burden they couldn’t bear
She could not see, she could not hear
With a broken heart and a broken smile
So strong yet so fragile
She walked out clutching her stick
Burning quietly like the candle’s wick

But they forgot the time they made her bear
When they didn’t know and wouldn’t hear
When she held their hands and kissed their faces
When she smothered them with warm embraces
They forgot the time she kept them strong
And taught them words and right and wrong

When she wore old clothes and bought them new ones
When she made them pies and ate dry buns
When she awoke all night to nurse them to health
And she swore to the world that they were her wealth
When she cried but didn’t let them know
And thanked God each day she watched them grow

Now and then they see her in the street
Her wrinkled face and wobbly feet
She doesn’t look so healthy anymore
They feel a tinge of guilt, but ignore
And one day when she will no more breathe
They will cry and repent on her wreathe


Constructive and genuine appreciation and/or criticism most welcome

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