Mom

This poem is dedicated to my mom.

The unsung heroes.
Single mothers pulling double their loads.
Never asked to be heroes.
Just making a living and making a home.

You never asked for this life,
but this life has the ones you love.
You never asked to be a hero.
You just wanna be mom.

When a son is young
he doesn’t realize the cross you bear.
When he is older,
he’s just grateful that you were there.

Grey hairs or raggedy clothes,
cheap cars or the apartment above.
A good but simple meal on the table,
It’s a “Merry Christmas” made better with love.

The unsung heroes.
Single mothers pulling double their loads.
Never asked to be heroes.
Just making a living and making a home

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