Thoughts Inspired by a Letter from a Daughter to a Mother

By S. Dilworth Young

Sometime ago I said I

Loved you sixty ways

And counted them

To you.

But now I know I cannot

Count my love by

Any days.

My very breath is mine

Because you dared

To give your life that I might

Live.

Each day you gave to

Me that I might give

To mine

In my appointed time.

I cannot give to you

What you gave me

But to my own I pass

The torch

Then anxious, wait to

See

If they will pass to theirs

What you gave me.