I have praised many loved ones in my song,
And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
With empty hand.
Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
For things unsaid;
Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme
Their daily bread.
Mother
Theresa Helburn
(1)
Poem topics: future, song, time, bread, stand, celebrate, belong, rhyme, daily, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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