The Purest So Far

28 Jan

She clasped her child close to her bosom

The baby’s body covered with her shawl

The splattering rain soaked the woman

But for her child she’ll suffer, the mother

She’ll beg, borrow, sell or steal

She’ll starve to feed her child

She’ll fight the world with a fierce heart

But with her tiny one she’s tender,

the mother

You can point a finger at the world

Even the saints you may not spare

You can accuse God, He’ll forgive you

But there’s no finger to point at  a mother.

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Posted by on January 28, 2011 in Mom's Love, Uncategorized


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