We all have a mom, have known awesome mothers. This is a poem that describes what a mother is within the larger picture of the world. This is a representation of mother, without ethnicity, and yet from all peoples, regardless of history, or ambition. This is a poem that celebrates both happiness and sorrow.
Mother
by davenmidtown
A poem about mothers and all that they do in their lives, every day, for us their children
Celebrate Motherhood
Thank you Mom!
It is an endless task being a mother, and while we grow up, and grow into our own lives, they are still our mother. We should celebrate that fact everyday and remember the sacrifices that they gave to be our mothers. This is a lesson that we may not recognize until we become parents ourselves.
Financially, the cost of raising a child continues to grow. Emotionally, there are those late nights waiting up, hoping that we are all okay. All the worry, and disrespect that we give them as teenagers. We should recognize their efforts every time we see a mom with a baby, or listen to s smart-mouth brat talk back to their mom.
Even as husbands we should remember that the woman we married should be adored and respected because they are not only our wives, they are the mother of our children and that is something we should all cherish, and take pride in. Celebrate all of the mothers in your life by taking the time every day to say Thank You. Take some time out of your busy day and think of all the time they gave up to help you become successful. To all the mothers... I say Thank You!
Purity
In memory of mother
Play of light David Stillwell |
A Mother
The art of being a mother.
Mother:
She gathered life and limb
grass and reed
the sound of laughter
the smell of sleep
the color of his silky voice
texture, pitch and pride.
She found the likeness of his eyes
in pansy's growing wild
she took the essence of the sky
broken promise, hidden truth
and faith that's rectified.
She caught the act of
keeping house
raising children
the sound of laughter
muffled sighs
and subtle half truths
of little white lies.
She took the storm
its anger spent
found the silence of peace
the tarnished look of forgotten hope
the mutter of a sleeping man
the vibrant hue of a song
long spent, but echoing.
All of these she gathered
tightly bound to heart and soul
and wove them day
wove them night
into the fabric of her life....
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Comments
thank you... I agree.
Beautiful. What all mothers should be about.