I am a mother.

Fruit of my womb.

Flesh of my flesh.

Forever.

 

And we are poor.

 

Sometimes,

I may not eat, but you will.

Sometimes,

my heart is heavy, that yours may not be,

and I know you don’t get it.

 

My life on hold

that you have opportunity,

and I would have it

no other way.

 

I am a mother.

Fruit of my womb.

Flesh of my flesh.

Forever.

 

Am I poor?

No.

I am rich beyond measure,

in smiles.