| Every |
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Someone once asked me How I'd describe my mother. I knew that I could tell them, Using one word and no other. That very word is every. Now please, let me explain. Who is there every time I'm sick, Or every time I am in pain? Who was there for every function And for every tear I cried? Who sees every fault I have, Yet knows every time I tried? Who loves me, every single day, And knows my every hope? Who watches every step I take And pushes every time I mope? Mother means so much to me. She's every song I sing. She's the apple of my eye. She is my 'every' thing. |
| © 2002 by Claytia Doran |
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