On mommas poem

I found the poem, today.
the one to daddy,
before he was daddy.

Momma had the prettiest penmanship,
but spell, she could not,
to save her life.

I loved to read, mommas letters.

To me, she wrote one,
when I broke my arm,
as a child.

I found it in the baby book ...
the one she started,
but never completed ...

Their was a shadow, on the book,
left by the trauma, of my surgery,
at birth.

Momma luved Daddy,
the kind of luv that stays,
and works things out.

I want that kind of luv,
for my wife and children.

To stay and work things out.

Maybe someday,
they will find my letters, and poems,
and feel my luv for
my wife, and their grandmother.