The portrait is of my lovely mother and sister in 1950. Mom was 25 years old.
I searched for a poem I recall of a young mother and found this one from Katharine Tynan (1915). "She is the House of Life. Beyond her safe wall of a mad world she sees a little one that plays and sleeps at evenfall. Where she goes the angels bend to her, a little secret garden-close."
Inspired by the work of Finnabair on scrapbook.com