Mother

She sits on my piano,
I see her every day.
Such youth and beauty,
Bewitching, actually.

Her character ran deeper,
Her life not always grand,
"The flute's not where it's at,
What girl plays in a band?"

On she went, she knew her passion,
She played and made a stand;
And raised a girl, most on her own.
Guiding with a gentle hand.

In love, both had their ups and downs
In life, both found their way.
And now, with age, more similar each year,
A daughter lifts her head to gaze

On a mother,
So bright, so dear.

With thankfulness for lessons learned,
For artistry passed on,
The daughter knows, were it not for Mom,
The woman today, she'd not have become.

Kira Braun