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You stepped off the curb,

so pregnant I thought you would topple.

And we crossed the street, picked ripe berries,

Devouring them like naughty children.

And you held my heart in your hand.

And the sun smiled upon you.

Today, the boy presented a card.

You showed me, and you were radiant again just like that day.

And you still hold my heart in your hand.

Happy Mother’s Day dear.

© Dave Park 2019

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