THE MOTHER She walks still yet the mother Between the hours from midnight to dawn; Searching for her long lost lover And the children to whom them were born. The beds now are empty The rooms lonely forlorn; She stands on the hearth of memory A haven for those who mourn. The beds are now filled with children, Her lover is warm by her side; Her tears she'll save for tomorrow Not drown in the morning tide.' For between the hours from midnight to morning When the world is silent at rest; She lives on in her world full of memories And dreams again of their sweet warm caress.
					© Helen Catherine Cramer
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