Although a daughter,I write this as a mother.
Were both lovely daughters now,of older mothers
you a grandmother forced to be a mother,
and,I,a window alone with my fearless daughter.
Death has thus both shaped our life in ways
we would not have chosen.Yet the life is still the bright.
painfully lovely this it was always:
Our children like dancers on dark,at splendid night,
needing our loves as i needed yours;your love
the same song ever,for this time i remember
so from my time in your arms we move in slow spirals
toward the stars September has weeks like June
yet it is closer to fall love has no answers yet beauty answers all!
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