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FROM YOUR MOTHER, THERESA
Rhian Morgan

May you walk forth, my children, and slip not.
Your passage is a tightrope balancing act,
The eternal destination still unknown.
Many winds will blow and push your limits,
Intrude your mind and bruise your body. But fall not
When goaded by others and a lack of control.
March across with purpose, always looking ahead,
Envision something better; something worth striding for.
Worry not for elements you cannot change but see that
It is one foot in front of another until your rope unthreads.