Our Beloved Mother by Frederick Kambemba Yamusangie
It is time for all of us to rememberMaman Beatrice Matho! Gauthier and Nicole….Let us also remember thatMothers are always going be with us …Even when they died, We will always feel their pr
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It is time for all of us to rememberMaman Beatrice Matho! Gauthier and Nicole….Let us also remember thatMothers are always going be with us …Even when they died, We will always feel their pr
Two knights surrounded by dinosaursare cornered in the kitchen--all threat and bluster.Action figures always acteven as night tries to soothe them under.I am the one who laid a nervous handon a
Mother, mother, You are the wonder.Mother, mother, You are thereTo take careAnimals, birds, Plants, insects, And all creatures.Mother, mother, You are the wonder, Without youOne cannot find
Dear son, I hope and pray, Someday our paths, will cross! Each and every day I pray for you! I hope that someday you will forgive me! Please don't hold a grudge or hate me! I wanted a better li
There was Rundle, Station Master, An' Beazeley of the Rail,An' 'Ackman, Commissariat, An' Donkin' o' the Jail;An' Blake, Conductor-Sargent, Our Master twice was 'e,With 'im that kept the Europe-
My daughter would turn 10 next month…I find it hard to believe! It seems only yesterdayThat she was born….As my thoughts wanderDown the memory lane, I am transportedTo those restless daysI
My mother loved her horses and Her hounds of pedigree;She did not kiss the baby hand I held to her in glee.Of course I had a sweet nou-nou Who tended me with care,And
In Roman times, when swords were raised, And peace on Earth was rare, There lived a girl now highly praised, A girl beyond compare...Her name was Mary, Joseph's love, Betrothed, untouched by Man.
ONE morning (raw it was and wet--- A foggy day in winter time) A Woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight;And like
My mother, my dear mother, oh! You love me more than me! Are such rhymes rather cheap today? I write them heartily.How I wish I could ever beJust crying like a babeUpon your arms with pain unto
Is she not lovely! Oh! when, long ago,My own dead mother gazed upon my face,As I stood blushing near in bridal snow,I had not half her beauty and her grace.Yet that fond mother praised, the worl
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry 'Weep! weep! weep! weep!' So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacr