Sometimes I walk into a room and see her sitting there,
Her head buried in a book, in her favourite chair.
Slowly she lifts her head and looks into my eyes,
Smiling back, I go to speak, then I realise
The person I see before me is only in my heart
The person who in my life played the major part,
Living in my heart distinct from any other
The person I see in that chair will always be my mother
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