Who is she?
She goes through the day,With her hands chained,
A slave to responsibilities,
That the society has made,
A mother, a daughter, a wife,
A colleague, a sister,
Filled with so much life,
Yet complain she does not,
It wasn't something she was taught,
With a smile on her face,
She holds the family together,
Who is she you ask?
Well it's my mother.
Poetry by Kshiti Dubey
Read 708 times
Written on 2011-04-23 at 16:27
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Silent Philosopher |
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