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SEEING MY MOTHERHow often and surprising these days to see my mother's face reflecting back to me from my own mirror. Not that I mind, for I've always seen her as beautiful in form and spirit. Her beauty lies within and shines through her eyes whenever she speaks of wanting the best for you. It lies in her worn but gentle hands, their strength now all but gone yet still able to comfort as she strokes your back with love. It's there in the timber of her voice mellow as warm syrup, so kind and uplifting in troublesome times. Should I be compared to her with all her heart, strength, wisdom and compassion, I would surely count myself a woman blessed. K.Tate Jacoby copyright 8/1/2003 (With love to my mother Alma Jean) Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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