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  • Writer's pictureAlexandra Alissandratou


Updated: Aug 26, 2019


An elusive dream steeped in reality,

A beautiful past once lived,

A looking glass of what once was,

What is,

And what is yet to come.

Without warning,

We, the mothers,

Are adrift in a sea,

Our anchors, our children gone,

Off to the future,

Riding their own waves.

Without warning,

We are left with memories of that wondrous past;

While our children are creating the future,

Of which we are and are not a part.

Children take what we have to offer;

Like shooting stars,

They soar eagerly toward the unknown,

Masters of their destinies,

Painters of their dreams;

Sculptors of their own histories.

The mirror of their


A shadow of what once was.

Once I was that child.

Now I am that mother.

Me, Robert College, 1966, BA. Vittoria, University of San Francisco, 2000, BA

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