Mother’s day

Mother’s day


They say it is the thought that counts

So here i sit and think of things

Of rich and poor, of maids and men

Of lovers, heroes, slaves and kings


I think of waifs, and village serfs

I drift to Players on the stage

Recounting lords and peasant girls

And they who dwell on history’s page


Into my mind a farmer comes

I see her in a field of grass

Atop a cliff she casts her gaze

And spies upon the sea a mast


A captain there upon a deck

With hardy hands and bearded chin

The wind that stirs the farmers grass

Now whips the coattails at his shin


For all who’ve brave or wretched been

And those who’ve fought or loved each other

There isn’t one amongst the lot

Who didn’t get here through a mother


We may shrug, this glaring fact

But let us not lightly dismiss

Instead reflect and give our thanks

If not the very least for this:


Without a child a mother is

A Woman, nothing less or more

But take the mother from the child

And he will not exist at all.


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