| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - My mom is a survivor,or so I have heard it said.But I can hear her cryingwhen all others are in bed.I watch her lay awake at night.and go to hold her hand.She does not know I am with herto help her understand.But like the sands upon a beachthat never wash away...I watch over my surviving momwho thinks of me each day.She wears a smile for others, a smile of disguise.But through Heaven's open door,I see
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