Climbing steps
By Grannyrosie
I am climbing steps again, Momma. Like the ones still so fresh in my mind. Holding your hand, I was only two. Fat chubby legs couldn’t keep up with you. As I grew, the steps seemed to get lower, I took them with enthusiastic hops, and a leap, Yet still, never learning from experience, Often ended up in a crumpled heap. My children came, still there were steps. But it seemed I saw life as a race. Forgetting how much I had needed you, Ignoring stress on each sweet little face. The years have caught up with me Momma. These next steps appear steep, and cold. How I wish you could hold my hand again, Encourage me to be brave and bold. I’ve slowed down Momma, can’t run anymore. The steps look all fuzzy, the edges are worn. There is a perpetual tear in my eye. Momma, where have all those middle years gone? I wish you could be here now Momma. Wish we could start all over again. I know I would hold on tight, longer, Yet, take those same steps all over again. Written March 20th, 2002 © on Mar 19 2002 09:08 PM PST, Patricia Rosenberg 0 • 10
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"I am climbing steps again, Momma...."