A Poem: To The Last Parent

I heard a song
From a grandmother to her daughter
It was the very song you sung
But never got to end
After all these years
It sounds new and cuts deep
They will never understand
That never would cross a world
To hear the last sounds to a tune
Many can play your place
But the color of your nipple would elude their mimicry
Mothers die to the world
To sons, they’ll ever remain.

The Faceless Muckraker
A Lyrical Guide into Mum’s Life