a singular mother takes her daughter, of the age of four, out for a stroll.
ten degrees, three a.m., thursday isn't over until the last man starts snoring
she skates amateurly in her miniature roller skates under the protection of a bright white helmet that glows a soft, glistened burnt yellow-red under the street light
she holds her mother's hand in guidance
take a good look and perhaps, write a note
a mother so strong deserves the recognition
worn out, bitter sweet, loves to love
but deserves all of the purest love
i wish i was there to hold you tighter than your last lover never did