As I sort through the pages of my life,
joy and sorrow it seems I often find
are never one without the other.
They equal life only when combined.
A complexed weaving is a mother’s love,
with strands of golden laughter,
embracing darker threads of tears
that form this precious gift of love
I longed for in my early years.
In future days of sun and shadow,
and mostly in the times of lonely pain,
you will always be my golden moment,
where the sun shone through the rain.
And the only thing I really know is true,
that of all the things I’ve ever done,
I can’t imagine life without the gift of you.