I never really got to know her,
Herself she never shared with me,
Now I gaze upon her picture
And I'm looking straight at me.

She seems so young and innocent,
A slightest curve along her smile,
Hair of ebony, skin of olive,
Her gaze so haunting all the while.

A single band across her forehead
Adds to her beauty in many ways,
How I wish she'd sought to teach me
Of herself and life in bygone days.

All I'm left is just an image
Of the one that gave me birth,
Remnant of Cherokee heritage,
Not really knowing of her worth.

Such attraction now I feel, as
The photo strangely beckons me,
Tugging painfully at my heart...
Perhaps this all was meant to be.

Feelings pushing to the surface
Of a mother's love withheld,
Falling tears begin the healing,
A lifetime full of hurts untold.