Mother’s Day

Mother’s dress is flush with flowers,
lilies lush from April showers.
This fair day in middle May
nobles bend to praise her powers.

Silken crown, her fine array,
joins the wind in winsome play.
As she, quiet, greets the throng
every soldier quits the fray.

Firm she stands, lovely, strong,
weakened ones to fend from wrong.
Gems, her mouth pours forth, and gold.
Strangers, in her midst, belong.

Honor her both young and old.
May unspoken laud be told.
Let your lips with praise unfold.
Mothers, Mothers be extolled.

Mother

When mother you meet
you say something sweet and give her
a hug and a kiss, yes?
She birthed you and raised you,
chastised and praised you,
she always assumed you’d be best.

Distant or nigh, your mother
still sighs as she thinks of you
there by her breast,
when you were her darling, her
baby, a starling who flew,
oh so soon, from her nest.

Though you have moved on your
mother still longs, when she sees
the sun fade in the west,
to hoist you in love like the
wind ‘neath a dove lifts its wing
as it flies to its rest.

Consider your mother, the woman
who’d rather be laughed at and
told she’s a mess than to
look, but not see you,
hold, but not free you or
keep you from making your quest.