Mother
My mother sweeping up the floor,
Or greeting neighbors at the door.
Stopping for a cup of tea,
With cookies and some milk for me.
She’d make the beds, do other chores
Before hanging the clothes outdoors.
My mother led a busy life
And still she was a happy wife.
The meals that from my mother came,
Would put all restaurants to shame.
She was the world to Dad and me.
She’s with me still in memory.
I see her shining chestnut hair
And tortoise comb to hold it there.
She kept it all in ordered check
Except for curls on back of neck.
She gazed at me with mother’s pride
Until the very day she died.
I know there’ll never be another
Who could love me as did Mother.
Mother’s always in my prayer.
I ask that she be happy there,
With floors to sweep or beds to make
Someone to love for love’s own sake.
By Joyce Johnson 5/4/02 Wpm # 2
For D P's Early Mother's Day Contest
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