SHE WAS NOT MY REAL MOTHER

She was not my real mother, but she loved me anyway,
Taught me right from wrong, what to do and say.
There’s no difference shown ’tween her children and me,
She spreads her love around us all so very equally.

Another child was heard to say, I was chosen not born
To this family, Oh, how I am loved, I never feel forlorn,
People don’t know the difference and I shall always be
Glad to be loved by a mother who could not carry me.

These mothers have a heart that is so full of love
That it can be shared by those not of their blood.
A love that springs eternal from our heavenly home,
And many called them blessed, wherever they may roam.

I pray that I could take other children not born of me,
Love them, hold them, give all my love so liberally
That no one could ever tell which were born naturally,
Or which were born of others, but now belong to me.

M Ann Margetson. © May 15, 2000
2000/Shewasnot

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