When my mother was young
I wasn’t born
When my mother was relatively young
I was a newborn
When my mother was middle aged
I was an adult
When my mother was old
I was middle aged
When my mother was dying
I was crying
Because, for better or worse
My mother was my model to copy in life’s stages
Now I’m alone with no mother there
I realise that life is unfair
Just when I have the time for my mother
I’m left only with those for whom I don’t deeply care
A sister and a brother, alas, I now miss you mother.
From my guide Crazy Horse through Ian Rogers Director Sphinx Spiritual
www.thespiritualrenaissance.com
