Mom
The gentle fingers that caress a soft head
The gentle embrace that follows when fed
Eyes that know the need in each thought
Need that is delivered before it is sought.
Bringing to the world the cycle of life
Shouldering all of its pain and strife
A woman knows intelligence and nourishment
And motherhood provides till the last lament.
Celebrate, bow to its offerings and gifts
Breathe in the rich pure fragrance
Hasten not from the cradle
For there is no joy in privation
Always look back with each forward step
Fostered by sacrifice, this grand creation
Hosts the greatest of all elation
And all the honors that are granted
Never really repay what has been planted.
To have been nurtured and set free
By a love greater than all that is me
I can only be small and meek
When the word, mother, I speak.
Copyright © Michael Moncrief | Year Posted 2017
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