Slow Dawning

Horror and betrayal warred

At Grandpas barked guffaw,

Unexpected insult heaped

Upon Mother’s recent wound.

Was he still a babe in arms

Needing mom to wipe his chin?

No! He was a man and grown…

Or very nearly so, at ten!

Drying mirth from ancient eyes

O’da laid confusion rest,

“At luncheon this day ‘twas I

Pullin’ yon face to me own marm!”

Slowly came his dawning-

Forever, Moms will be Mom’s.

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