Weary wings, burdened, heavy...
Fluttering to fly far away,
farewell to high flights, oh sweet birdie,
tiedth to thy nest art thou today.
Little ones await thy warmth birdie,
living their dreams through thy eyes.
Thy acts encrypth, their future birdie,
thy breath.... their life....
Mother thou art, oh sweet birdie,
most nobel, generous being of all.
Fluttering to fly far away,
farewell to high flights, oh sweet birdie,
tiedth to thy nest art thou today.
Little ones await thy warmth birdie,
living their dreams through thy eyes.
Thy acts encrypth, their future birdie,
thy breath.... their life....
Mother thou art, oh sweet birdie,
most nobel, generous being of all.
Thy life nay not thy ownth birdie
Belongth to thy little ones.... thy all....
I have three children.
Two boys and a girl.
The youngest is 32 weeks old and the eldest 32 years.
There is a fine line between being a mother and a wife....
Belongth to thy little ones.... thy all....
I have three children.
Two boys and a girl.
The youngest is 32 weeks old and the eldest 32 years.
There is a fine line between being a mother and a wife....
I love being that woman; playing both rolls... 'mostly the mother'....
But my boys demand so much attention, that the little girl within gets neglected the most. This poem is for her....
