Mothers, don't forget, are daughters first
and, therein lies the rub.
for every move they make
there is an overdub.
a strip of ground
between two faces,
a fragile weave
of different places
where the new love lies
A sanguine string connects them both
And tattered ends are tied with love
And patches sewn are done, unknown
Cause that's what they were shown
Sisters, Aunts all act the same
They are taught from very small
Love the next and make it right
And family over all
The recipe of life, passed down
However incomplete and poorly versed
Is witnessed, done in daily life
By Mothers who were daughters first
