nostalgia

FREEFORM FOR SEPTEMBER In the tinsel of my twilight,  I hear their laughter—echoes of yesterday,  Little feet that once danced in my shadow, until I turned,  Now stride boldly, their own paths to pave.  “Mama,” they say, eyes bright with the sun,  “We’re grown now, we’ve got this—  Your wisdom, though cherished,  Is a breeze Read more