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Celebrating Mother's Day at The Holiday Zone

Evening Song
Cecil Frances Taylor

Little birds sleep sweetly
     In their soft round nests,
Crouching in the cover
     Of their mothers' breasts.
Little lambs lie quiet,
     All the summer night,
With their old ewe mothers,
     Warm, and soft, and white.

But more sweet and quiet
     Lie our little heads,
With our own dear mothers
     Sitting by our beds;
And their soft sweet voices
     Sing our hush-abies,
While the room grows darker,
     And we shut our eyes.

And we play at evening
     Round our fathers' knees;
Birds are not so merry,
     Singing on the trees;
Lambs are not so happy,
     'Mid the meadow flowers;
They have play and pleasure,
     But not love like ours.
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