I am my Mother, as I weep
when reading of death and life,
knowing forever exists only in
the mind.
I am my Father, as I start each
day, rise to the challenges,
assuming great things will happen
as chance favors the prepared mind.
I am myself, my rose colored
glasses slip, I see the grass has
browned on the other side of
the fence.
Deb Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grass-2/
