A poem for OctPoWriMo on the theme of mothers.
A mother is in the blood,
a flowering urge to root and shoot,
bud-burgeoning into blooms.
A mother blooms and falls,
her memory fading only slightly,
fuzzy at the edges, hard lines softened,
and the seeds set remind
in their bright laughter
and the way they hold a pencil
or turn a phrase,
that though the petals fell,
the rose remains.