Mother

“I think it was a girlish hand,

Unlined, well tended, when it held

At first, my clinging baby hand

In gentle grasp by love impelled.

I think it was a youthful face

That bent above me as I lay

Asleep, and bright the eyes that watched

My rest, in that forgotten day.

I think it was a slender form

That bore my weight on tiring arm,

And swift young feet that watched my steps

To guide them from the ways of harm.

But years and cares have changed that form

And face and hand; have streaked with gray

The hair; yet is the heart as full

Of love as in that other day.

And she has her reward; not fame,

Or baubles bought in any mart,

But motherhood’s brave crown, the love

And homage of her own child’s heart.”

Happy Mother’s Day, Mami! You are loved with an everlasting love!

~ Your loving daughter ~ Betsy

* poem by Clara Aiken Speer