Two separate women,
Diverse by design,
But I loved them both,
Because they were both mine.

The first was the mother
Who carried me here,
Gave birth and nurtured,
And launched my career.

She was the one
Whose features I bear,
Complete with the facial
Expression I wear.

She gave me some music
Which follows me yet,
Along with examples
In life that she set.

Then as I got older,
She some younger grew,
And we’d laugh as only mothers
And daughters can do.

But then came the year
That her mind clouded so,
And I sensed that the mother
I’d known soon would go.

So quickly she changed,
And turned into the other,
As a stranger who dressed
In the clothes of my mother.

Oh, she looked the same,
As least at arm’s length,
But she was the child now,
And I was her strength.

We’d come full circle,
We women three,
My mother the first,
The second, and me.

And if my own children
Should come to a day
When a new mother comes,
And the old goes away-

I’d ask of them nothing
That I didn’t do:
Love both of your mothers,
As both have loved you.