Everyday with a beating heart she waits
for a letter that will say
I am coming home Mother
I am coming home to stay.
Everyday she runs to the door
with tremulous feet on the carven floor
to the ring of the postman’s cry
anything for me she longs to pry.
Only to watch him wheel away
without a glance, without a say.
She bows her head and begins to pray
for the strength to hope for another day.
And so the days pass
weeks turn into years,
there is no more hope
there are no more tears.
Now she’s deaf to the postman’s ring
to the joyful news that he might bring.
Now she stoops embracing the dark
with utter despair ruling her heart.
Until one day there is a knock at the door
she barely shuffles across the dusty floor
and there he stands the apple of her eye
the letter it seems had gone awry.
Oh how the flower of happiness blooms in her soul
one by one the fragile petals unfold
Oh how her face is radiant with light
like a new-born star twinkling bright.
And this is where we shall leave her be
Basking in love and all its glory.
Closing the door softly and firmly.


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