A cry, she’s born, and then she’s grown,
flown from the nest, and yet, my child
beguiled, I remain, her loving parent,
transparent, apparent to all.
Walls cannot separate, or part,
heart to heart we stand united,
delighted. Yet I’m daughter, too,
whose mother ages. Round and round
bound in time, the seasons go, and
grand is life, though quick it passes.
Grasses turn green, then brown. A sigh,
a cry, she’s born, and then she’s grown.
This is a circular poem in response to Jane Dougherty’s poetry challenge. The theme was cycles and circles. The prompt was the photo at the top, but perhaps my photos express it better.