For my mother

In spring, the wind blew over you so fresh,

so full of hope, it seemed to be the breath

of dawn itself.  In summer, warmer winds

of sun and rain aroused the sleeping life

you knew was yours to give.  And in the fall,

the wind brings you the fragrance, sweet and strong,

of the fruits so gently nurtured by your hands.

Before the winter nights approach, and you

fend off the cold and cutting snows with coals

that glow in memory of fires past, lift

your face into the wind and feel the spring

again.  And if it may, allow the breeze

to speak my heart in whispers soft and brush

your cheek with my most tender, filial kiss.

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