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Come To Me My Love…

Being a young mother I need to be,
Strong, patient, tender and soft to speak.
Not to sing a sad melody but to sing songs of love,
Have hands skillful soothing soft acting like balm.
A voice so soothing that takes all the pain away,
Arms holding you close to my breast and say:
“Come to me my love my precious,
Your mom will always love you so”…

 

© 2012 Pimmi Nag

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