A Poem for My Mom, on Mother’s Day

Sing “Tender Shepherd”

while the baby cuddles close,

trying not to sleep.

 

Remind her: there’s a

great green room, a telephone,

the cradle rocking.

 

There’s a moon up there,

whether we see it or not,

a sullen moon, who

 

longs for a nightgown,

who sails silently over

the town, smiling,

ready to hear “Good night.”

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