Memories of Mom (Ina Pauley) Lyrics: Son: Randy Pauley – Music: Frank Poland
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Memories of Mom (Ina Pauley)
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I remember Mom, not just today, but every single day,
With whispers of her laughter, in the gentle breeze at play.
When the scent of vegetable soup wafts through the air,
I close my eyes and feel her presence, standing there..
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Her hands danced through the spices, as she stirred with a grace,
Each bowl a treasured moment, each meal, a warm embrace.
In our humble Kentucky home, where simplicity thrived,
With every simmer and every bubble, her heart & soul arrived.
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When I pass by a schoolhouse, its windows framed in light,
I see her there, a beacon, guiding futures burning bright.
Her love for learning woven in each tender, guiding word,
She shaped the minds of children—her spirit ever stirred.
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The dusty roads of childhood, where I played without a care,
Hold echoes of her being, and her presence everywhere.
When a rocking chair on porches creaks with whispers of the past,
I see her shining smile, as the years rushed by so fast.
Oh, the rocking chair on our front porch swing,
Where my mother would sit, and sweet memories cling.
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With a basket full of green beans, she’d would labor and toil,
Her work was not for glory, but the love within the soil.
As she broke those tender beans, memories she would weave,
Each snap a treasured thought, each moment a memory.
Those soft evening whispers, like secrets we’d share,
In the warmth of the dusk, in the cool evening air.
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When I come across a quilt, so intricately designed,
I marvel at the labor of her heart, each stitch entwined.
Her fingers raced like whispers, across the fabric’s face,
In every patch and pattern, there’s a story to embrace.
She stitched with her heart, every fabric a prayer,
Creating a legacy, tender as air.
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Each garden path she tended, like a canvas made of green,
Bore witness to her passion; it was there, she felt serene.
I see her digging, her laughter mingling with the sound,
As blossoms were around her, in the mornings sun-drenched ground.
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I look at my own children, their laughter pure and free,
And in the depths of their bright eyes, I see her watching me.
In the way they hold each other, in the way they share their hearts,
Mom’s love threads through our moments, and it never truly parts.
I tell them of Grandma, of love without end,
Of a woman whose heart is forever reflected through her kin.
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Mom was tough as oak when storms came raging wild,
Anchored in her steadfastness, the shelter for her child.
Yet as soft as cotton, in those times I felt alone,
In her warm embrace, I had a place called home.
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To tell you of my love for her, would be but a faint refrain,
A symphony of gratitude, a sweet and tender pain.
For words might fall like raindrops, but never touch the core,
Of how I cherish every memory, of the Mom whom I adore.
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So as I weave my stories, of the mother I once knew,
I shall keep her spirit alive, with each loving thing I do.
With every pot of soup I make, with blankets that she sewed,
In gardens filled with laughter, her essence still grows.
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And though time carries me forward, through the years thick and thin,
I’ll sing of Ina Pauley, for she lives where love begins.
Mom, I promise to remember, to honor in my way,
For it’s in those sweet reflections, you guide me day by day.
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