She was a wonderful woman,
though she couldn’t boil an egg.
She was the only mother I had,
yet insisted I call her Meg.
I unlocked her secrets in the bookshelf
after she’d crossed to another realm.
Every title- a synonym for happiness,
each colour and cover a luminous dream.
We polish the skills that matter to us.
I learned that lesson, though rather late
She was the library of joy all out there
While I kept searching for dark secrets
eautiful poem Reena! 🤗💜
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A heartfelt story Reena. The rhymes work so well.
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Glad you resonated both with the story and rhymes 🙂
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i suppose in this life nobody is perfect; we take the good with the bad.
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One cannot be perfect because others’ expectations differ, and we cannot keep measuring up to all.
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We all love our Mums but don’t always show them how much.
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It is called “taking for granted.” ☺️
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Beautiful, Reena.
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Thank you so much!
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Dark secrets. What was the other side of Meg?
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None. Our minds are trained to look for what is not obvious. We take pride in insights, even when those are not required.
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I love this Reena – deeply touching and reflective 💞
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Thank you, Ange!
I’m guilty of measuring people by what they do, not say. But seeing my pets spread so much happiness makes me think that just being what we are, not doing matters so much.
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Yes I totally agree 💜
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A lovely poem.
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Thank you, Diana!
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Beautiful, Reena.
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Thank you, Dale!
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My pleasure.
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Gorgeous writing, Reena.
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It was fun writing 🙂
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