• waterman_junior 6w

    Mother

    I have but fits of those memories.

    You showed me the bright moon and called it my uncle.

    I gazed. Uncle gazed back. Awe left my mouth wide open. The trick worked. I was fed with food and imagination. 

    Mother, you are the love with whom I don't want to grow old with. I hate the wrinkles which denude thy skin every passing year. 
    Also, how did you feed me when there were clouds and rains? 


    ©waterman_junior