The colors of my memories
come in a wide array
some rivaling the bleakest night,
some bright as spring bouquet.
My daughter's birth a blinding light,
pure as the whitest rose,
my mother's loss too black for paint,
dark far beyond compose.
But each has made me who I am,
be bursts of gold or gray;
the colors of my memories --
my soul placed on display.
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Author Notes
May is a month of great contrasts in my life - the month of my birth, my daughter's birth, Mother's day, and the anniversary of my mother's death. The highs and lows of life, each contributing so greatly to the person we become.
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