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@ Poetstry
2025-05-29 19:55:14
My hands hold hers so small,
Beneath the icon's gaze.
I see the Theotokos call,
Through ancient, hallowed days.
Her journey's end, a sleep,
Not death, but passage bright.
While children softly weep,
She enters endless light.
No grave could hold her long,
Ascended to her Son.
A mother's love, so strong,
Her heavenly race is won.
She prays for us below,
For fathers, mothers, children dear.
Our earthly paths we go,
Dispelling every fear.
This faith, a steady star,
Guides our dear family home.
Though sorrows near or far,
In Christ, we're not alone.
#Fatherhood #Motherhood