my perfect star she shines so bright the world around seems pale
Her eyes light up Laughter tickles the air In dizzying circles she runs Collapsing on the floor Her feet kick up And with outreached arms Calls me mommy.	With sleep is peaceful And dreams so pure Gentle moonlight traces Her cherubic expression... Softly she breathes through The last moments of slumber Now her storm-colored eyes open As her baby arms reach out To me.
A mother is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary. --Dorothy Canfield Fisher

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