Tiptoeing
When I look at my rusty amazing pram
And search for your peculiar fragrance Mom!
Then I remember that you take me out often in those days
And listen to my prattle patiently.
Still I hear your precious fading lullabies
And I walk towards the humble graveyard
Where you rest with others quietly Mom!
* A kiss from my mother
Made me a painter.
-Benjamin.West
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
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