Mother's Day

There's something about a mother . . .
The way you say her name . . .
[I]t makes everything a little calmer.
But, it's the way she hears and interprets that carries her fame.

There's something about a mother . . .
The way she catches your smile,
[L]aughing in tune, you love her.
But, it's the way she cares and shares that makes it worthwhile.

Mother . . .
[O]ne word alone brings to mind
Memories and pictures of other
Times and tales to which the hearts-strings bind.

A mother's hands hold broken pieces
Of smiles that used to be . . .
A mother's fingers stroke the places that
[V]acate hurt and pain once so icy . . .

An infant . . .
Barely able to giggle a tad
Catches sight of a beauty intent,
[E]xamines a mother cradle so glad.

Tiny fingers meet tender care.
[Y]abbering baby breeds wild work,
But she keeps a rocking chair
Close to pacify the berserk.

[O]ne last soft coo yawns
As a mother sighing,
Closes her eyes in ties . . .
Praying over her new found blessing.

A child . . .
Skinned knees and bruises
[U]pset but ache no more than mild
As a mother's kiss makes healing uses.

"[M]ommy, will you tell me a story?"
Becomes the usual request
As words roll from small lips - a tiny quarry.
She smiles and animates a wild thing her best.

The child has big dreams,
Reaching for the utmost acme
[O]f sky and seams . . .
To meet a mother's inspiring homily.

A teen . . .
New sights and passions
Unfold into actions and glean
[M]ore than a mother's foundation.

A bright smile,
No more braces,
[H]iking around High School's aisle . . .
The mother packs in prayers to lunch cases.

But, a snag rocks the road,

The teen falls into sickness' abode,
But a mother's love wraps and makes nimble.

A college student . . .
[P]utting clips in the wing
Wouldn't be prudent,
And o how beautifully a mother's hand lets freedom ring.

[P]aying visits brighten both their days
Where love always meets at the door
In hugs and tongues wagging to recount the ways
Of days and nights and future's allure.

Growing up quite fast these days.
[Y]esterday's prayers are quite evident
In each freckle on her baby's nose and ways . . .
Appreciating mom becomes so easily an event.

A mother . . .
Hugs that jump to the heart
[M]elting the iciest day anywhere.
Everything about her beams in light like art.

A mom . . .
Waiting in the rain at soccer games and such
[O]nly to find the day fly by for gone:
Making memories and smiling a bunch.

A domestic engineer . . .
Yes, she's a real one too,
[T]hough making lunches, driving to practice, making everything appear
Much easier than it looks is her coup.

A smile that streaks into
[H]undreds, thousands of slices
Is like the time when mom and you
Talk of things so priceless.

You wonder now
[E]ver if the lighting was right . . .
Would wings appear and bow
To you from her height?

A mother . . .
There's something about a mother . . .
Not every other . . .
[R]ather, there's something about this one mother . . .

I know her quite well,
And needless to say
[S]he is the most amazing of all the others I tell.
But, so humble she is in each tiny way.

A mother . . .
To share joy, to cherish,
To confide in, to love her.
[D]eepening in love and care is more than fairish.

The bottler of tears and a soother of fearing
Through all the years built with a never ending.
A mother is all these things.

[Y]et, the greatest thing
About a mother . . .
Is that this one lady with red hair and arms for a swing
Is mine.
And, that's what makes her the greatest mother of all!