We share a common mother, as we share a common moon.

When we wish we were elsewhere, like Sylvester and his pebble, Mommy is there to guide us, like bass is to treble.

She is the woman, our mother, that always hears our plea. Beyond any of our expectations of a boy, an apple and a giving tree.

The thought of Mommy exhilarates us, like the sound of music and running in a field. Mommy is strong, for quickly her cracked shell will be healed.

Mommy is always prepared for whatever may arise. Like Mary Poppins, her bag is filled with more than one surprise.

She raised us on Richard Scary, faith and New Yorker cartoons.

When the pieces were falling around us, she was there to pick up the ruins.

There is a voice can you hear it? Everything is going to be okay”.

Mommy has grandchildren, they will call her out to play.

So imagine a cross, bright above her bed and know she is in good hands.

For the Holy Trinity is with us as countless as the ocean sands.

Frankie Michael Scavullo

Written shortly after Mommy suffered a stroke in 2004

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