Describing my mother

ImageMother                                                                                                                                                     5/8/05

 

My mother, the beauty –

She is small hands

Spotted with history,

Bouncy red hair that used to flash,

Now shot through with gray.

She is distinctive,

Judges a person by character,

Not color or size or flaw,

Compassions herself constant

And sometimes runs out of

Steam or caring –

Oh! The energy it takes to

Worry for ten children

And scores more of their offspring;

And then the trees!  Who will speak for them

Or for the orphans of the world –

Now that Mother Teresa is gone

My mother prays twice as fast

And twice as often and

Oh! Soon we will worry for her, instead…..

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