Sunday, May 10, 2009

A mother's love




Her life was not as glorious as some,
She was and is still devoted to her children.
Taken up by quiet tedium.
What's left when dreams are scattered to the wind.
She loved too well, perhaps, and fought too hard.
To make a marriage work that wasn't right.
She was, of all bright loveliness, a shard
Struck off to bring our lives the gift of light.
There are those whose lives are shaped by love,
Whose pleasures, rich and full, are found in giving,
Who make our wild hearts bloom and passions move into measured fields made lush by living.
Without her all the gold's gone from the day.
Happy Mother's Day!


@ 2:24 PM