I'm a Mother, I'm a Writer (Linda Allen) I sit here in the stillness, and my thoughts are all of you, And I wonder and I worry so, as mothers often do. Oh, dear ones, how I needed all these days to be alone! But comes the evening, here I am - reaching for the phone. Cho: And it seems that every pleasure has its cost, And what I try so hard to find is lost. Still I must seek these lonely times to find a part of me, Then I'll be home. Your mama's comin' home. Sometimes when I try to write, so much keeps crowdin' in, And my life's a book with worn-out pages - scattered by the wind. I love you both so dearly, and I've never had regrets, But other voices beckon, I'm afraid that I'll forget. Sometimes the life I lead begins to tear my heart in two, And the rage comes spilling out and shadows everything we do, And it's then I need your love, but I need most to be alone, To take some time - a glass of wine - then mama's comin' home. Linda Allen, (c) 1984. XX
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