Your mother is always with you…she’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street…she is the smell of beach in your fresh laundered socks; she’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not well.
Your mother is always with you…she’s the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street…she is the smell of beach in your fresh laundered socks; she’s the cool hand on your brow when you’re not well.
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