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Gloria DeLois Davis
September 10, 1938 - June 10, 2010
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Mother

Your mother is always with you...

She is the whisper of leaves
as you walk down the street.

She's the smell of bleach
in your freshly laundered socks.

She's the cool hand on your brow
when you're not well.

Your mother lives inside your laughter
She's crystallized in every teardrop.

She's the place where you came from,
your first home...
She's the map that you follow
with every step that you take.

She's your first love,
and your first heartbreak...
And nothing on earth can separate you.

Not time, not space...
not even death...
will ever separate you..
from your mother.

Petals of Her Life

As beautiful as a rose to see,
Was her life she lived so gracefully.
She made things precious by her touch,
Her selfless love lives on in each of us.
The petals of her life fell one by one.
Each a gift of her heart,
'Til there were none.
Yet her radiance blooms once again
In fields of glory without end.Author Unknown

  
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