She told me stories
Amazing places where in my mind
I would explore each crack and crevice
Searching for the magic
In each story she spun.
I tried to remember these amazing fables
But as a child I could not,
So she took a pen to paper
And stayed up each night
Writing them down,
Each tale of children and animals
And then she gave them to me,
My personal trove of cherished stories.
I would sit out in the summer sun
Under a tree and read and then re read each one.
Magical days in the country,
My stories and I
Mind escapes to paradise,
The once upon a time
And happily ever afters.
Forty years gone by now,
And I do not remember any of them,
Not a single one.
But I remember the feel of the pages,
Her beautiful writing,
unmistakable mother cursive.
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