A Sonnet for My Mother

I'll be turning 57 years old at the end of this month, and my mom still worries about me. I guess good mothers always do worry, no matter what their children's ages. It's seems to be part of the job description.

Of course, worrying is only one of the things my mother does to show her love. Unfortunately, I've already written most of them in my birthday post about her.

That's why I'm falling back on a Mother's Day poem, written in honor of my own mother, who has been an incredible giver of gifts in my life. Thanks, Mom.

And thanks to all you other moms, too.

A Mother's Gifts

©2009 Susan Noyes Anderson

The world begins in Mother's warm embrace,

where hunger's cry invokes a milky feast,

a gift of self and sustenance, released 

by instincts time and years cannot erase.

Later, the offering changes, yet the grace

of substance freely given has not ceased.

The flow of mother love has but increased,

streaming in joyful lines o'er brow and face.

To hold another's welfare in your heart,

to share your light so someone else might shine,

to draw near when all others stand apart,

to speak in terms of thee and thou, not mine:

These are the sacred tracings of Christ's art, 

the curves and swirls of motherhood's design.