If I could give my mom the world
Or anything she wanted,
I'd give her my own heart and soul
And leave my own heart haunted.
I'd take upon myself her life
With all its strife and pain,
And let her ease into some space
Where she could live again.
The pain for me would not be pain,
At least not for a while;
For I'd be doing it for her,
And I would see her smile.
I wish that I could take her heart
And cleanse it with my tears,
And make her sorrow go away,
And answer all her fears.
I wish, I wish, but then I can't,
As I watch helplessly,
And take her in my arms and say
I wish that it were me.
But loving is a hard, hard way,
With all the pain it brings.
And yet there is no other way
To touch the heart of things.
Happiness, like most things, comes from mothers.
An amniotic universe is rare.
Paradises aren't found with others,
Perhaps because we must breathe our own air.
Yet even after paradise, we find
Mothers are a bath of warm affection.
Only mothers' love is truly blind
To guarantee all errant souls protection.
However we find love, it can be only
Evanescence of memories
Retained from when we never could be lonely,
'Ere we left our mother's outsized knees.
So good it is to have that happiness
Designed to grace each subsequent caress,
All future love and joy to underlie,
Yearning backwards towards a mother's sigh.
Happy Mother's Day" means more
Than have a happy day.
Within those words lie lots of things
We never get to say.
It means I love you first of all,
Then thanks for all you do.
It means you mean a lot to me,
And that I honor you.
But most of all, I guess it means
That I am thinking of
Your happiness on this, your day,
With pleasure and with love.
Happy Mother’s Day to my dear Mum,
Author of my personality:
Pleased, I hope, with what you read in me;
Pleased, I hope, with episodes to come.
Yet now I, too, would get some pleasure from
Making you the book in which I see,
Of all the players in my family,
The central character, whom I would plumb.
How beautiful to move in that direction!
Each to each a separate source of pleasure,
Reading in the other’s happiness,
‘Mid much description, underlying love.
So would we deepen the connection,
Discovering new passages to treasure
As we follow time towards tenderness,
Yearning for what years unread will prove.
Mom lived her life for love of friends and family,
Neither asking for nor wanting a return.
Her days became a sunlit homily,
With others' joy her joy and main concern.
When we were ill, she also became sick;
When we were cut, she, too, began to bleed.
Of our oil lamp she was the wick,
Drawing her bright flame from our need.
Some say that such behavior's out of date:
That self-fulfillment is the way to grace.
But Mom, without much choice, then chose her fate,
Finding greater truth in an embrace.
She lives on in the sparkle in our eyes:
Laughing, quiet, gentle, loving, wise.
Mommy, please don't worry 'cause
I'm doing really well,
Even though I miss you on
This Happy Mother's Day!
Wishing you were with me 'cause
In that case I could tell
You all the things that happened to me
While you were away.
I love you even though you can't
Be with me just for now.
And I know you love me, too,
'Cause I'm your little child.
And I'm sure that you will come
To me someday, somehow,
And I will see you look at me
And know that you have smiled.
Thank you, Mom, for making us
Happy, well, and good.
All we are depends on you:
Not what you say, but what you do.
Kids know what they should,
Yet need your hands for shaping us,
Opening and waking us,
Unveiling our view.
You are my mother and my friend,
Which is unusual.
Somehow our characters must blend:
Your wisdom and my will.
I turn, and you are there for me;
I speak, you understand.
I feel cared for, but also free;
You lead but don't command.
I'm fortunate that I was born
To someone just like you;
I love you, not just as my mom,
But for what you are and do.
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