Sheila Lowe

Jennifer, In Her Mother’s eyes

She was a woman of fiery power
Who chose her own path.
Hers, no one else’s.
Her strength eclipsed a thousand trials
Under pressure that molds diamonds.
The curves in the road were always hairpin turns for her,
The dips, deep potholes.
Never a molehill,
Always Everest.
Still, she pressed on.
She cried and raged and burned,
She bent in two but never broke.
No wispy pinks or baby blues for her.
Queenly purple, sizzling red, stygian black.
She was a woman of exotic beauty
Who never knew how beautiful she was
She was a woman well loved,
Who never knew how well loved she was