I was asked to write about my mother
My dear mother, the dearest of my dearest
My soul..my confidant..my best friend
I was asked to write about her. ...
LADY, in thy proud eyes
There is a weary look,
As if the spirit we know through them
Were daunted with rebuke
To think that the heart of man henceforth
Is read like a read book.
Lady, in thy lifted face
The solitude is sore;
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