Read Poems by Trudy Diane Rider

  

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Mom

It’s not the word “Mother”
that means anything to me,
it’s the emotion and love inside the word,
hidden, for all to see, it’s the
	Mold I measure myself by, the
	Optimism I learned, the
	Tower of strength I lean on, the
	Hearth and home that nurtured, the
	Encouragement to fly, and the
	Rock that has held our family together through the years.
It’s the woman I call Mother
and her gentle, loving eyes,
that “squinty” look, the love and pride
that sees right through the lies.
Her poise, her laughter,
her intimidation, and her grace,
her smile of encouragement and			
the patience on her face.
She’s all the thing I hope to be,
a vibrant, bright bouquet,
as breath taking and beautiful,
as the first daffodil in May.		


© 5/10/14 TDR

Copyright © Trudy Diane Rider | Year Posted 2016