Saturdays my mother got up early

and cooked breakfast in the chilly cold kitchen

then with coarse wrinkled hands that ached

from labor as a cleaning lady woke me up.

I never thanked her.

I would crawl out of bed 

and hear the cold wind howling

After I washed myself and had my breakfast

She would dress me in my school uniform

and help me put on a pair of white stockings.

Listening indifferently to her

Who escorted me to take the school bus at dawn

and ironed my uniform as well

What did I know, what did I know

Of love that’s so tender inside.

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