If I was the poorest soul on the face of this earth and had
to choose between a satchel of millions of dollars and of
what happened this morning I would burn the dollars to
light my path , throw the ashes in the air, and with a
magic spell they turn into stars that shine inside everyone’s
-Mother of W.E.
So at thirty eight, you discover your mother has skills!
Pretty nifty keeping it under wraps for fifty seven years.
She wrote that to me because she was happy about something I did.
Blew me away. I guess word obsession definitely traces back through her lineage
One thought on “When your mother is a closet poet”
that was a wicked cool poem.
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