Memories of My Mother

Oftentimes on a very cold winter’s night, Thoughts of my old home place come to light. Thoughts of cold nights, homemade quilts, and warm beds, And visions of Mother and Daddy appear in my head. They both seemed so strong, as if they didn’t have a care. They shielded us children from troubles, of which we were often unaware. Our parents protected us, and were like giants to us. We knew that their word, like God’s, we could trust. Smells from the past too, haunt me and I remember, Good things cooking on the old wood stove in December. No matter how hard I try to imitate their taste, I will never quite achieve it, to even try is a waste. Mama, who endured so much of the cares of this life, Seemed like an angel to me. She was a good wife. She was a perfect Mother, who loved her children so much. She deprived herself, as she cared for us with her loving touch. Sometimes now, when I awaken, and the room has grown cold, In the dim light, I can almost see her face, and her long hair of gold. In my mind I can see her coming to my bed, And gently tucking the covers up tightly to my head.