Mother's Heart

53 10 15
                                    

Your heart is not a mortal muscle
Your heart's an everlasting home
It cannot fail, it cannot hustle
Wise as a golden printed tome

Gracious enough to give the world
Oversupply of love and light
Illuminates the darkest night
The sun that shines, a guarding dome

Your heart has hands that heal all wounds
Coolness to my blazing forehead
Aromatic warmth in the afternoon
For broken souls and sleepless heads

Your heart has eyes that guide and soothe
The fear of losing faith and hope
Your heart has ears to sift and smooth
Phobic torments and help me cope

Your heart is where I end and start
Long may it live, Dear Mother's Heart

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