She Was Merely Poem by William F Dougherty
She Was Merely
The palm of a bestowing hand,
a tendril's ringlet to the vine;
merely a primrose in the tare,
merely grape to wine.
Merely raindrops to swell a seed,
a candle lit to right a wrong;
merely the lips that loft a prayer,
merely breath to song.
Monday, April 30, 2012
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4/25/2024 10:45:00 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Many mothers are, as we realize inretrospect.