Mother’s Day

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‘What’s wrong Cyril?’ asked Obby.

‘I’ve just remembered its Mothers Day.’

‘ You’re only half way through the day so you still have time to pick her flowers and wish her,’ Obby said.

‘ She will think I love her half a day less,’ Cyril said in a sad voice.’

‘ No she won’t,’ Obby reassured him. ‘

And with that reassurance Cyril hopped off to pick a bunch of flowers.

When Cyril was gone,  Obby  took a leaf and with a small twig he wrote, ‘ I love you mommy’ and held it up to the breeze. It danced all around him. It tickled his nose, fell between his toes and landed on his chest, before kissing his cheek with the gentlest touch, and then with a final twirl it was swept away with the breeze

Obby smiled.

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