March’s Whisper
Remembering my mother on 8 March
Three moons have turned since you slipped away, yet your laughter lingers in the thawing air
— a melody of spring, soft as petals strewn, where daffodils bow, and the earth repairs.
Your hands, once warm as the March sun’s embrace, now stitch silver threads through twilight’s veil.
I find you in the dusk—a breath,
a trace—
in crocuses that stubbornly prevail.
The clock ticks grief, but the seasons insist:
you are the sap in the maple’s slow climb, the cardinal’s hymn through the morning mist, the quiet that heals the fractures of time.
Do not fade, I whisper.
The stars reply—
Love is the root no winter can untie.
Disclaimer: Investing carries risk. This is not financial advice. The above content should not be regarded as an offer, recommendation, or solicitation on acquiring or disposing of any financial products, any associated discussions, comments, or posts by author or other users should not be considered as such either. It is solely for general information purpose only, which does not consider your own investment objectives, financial situations or needs. TTM assumes no responsibility or warranty for the accuracy and completeness of the information, investors should do their own research and may seek professional advice before investing.
