It was not my father who sat me down, and explained to me the nuisance of men, and their fragile indecisiveness.
It was my mother who sat with me as I cried, and watched over me.
It was my mother who knew, because she knew all too well the sting of a man who promises you Spring, and then when winter leaves does not grant you anything..
It was not my father who sat in place of the man who had left me and told me that I was still full of grace, and I still had him in the face of all and any ill fate.
It was my mother who awoke from her sleep, and climbed down a full flight of stares to stare at me alarmingly as my face welled up with sorrow.
Though it was my greatest woe,
It was my mother’s heart that broke..
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