Standing at the Sink There
Standing at the sink there,
all is set before her view;
she works through problems one by one--
of course, she's thought of you.
She deftly scans the skyline,
loved ones cast before her there;
and thinks about their struggles--
weighing each with tender care.
With quickened mind she courses
through a thousand ways and more,
to heal the aches and pains they feel--
these precious ones, she bore.
With mother's heart she rushes
to the aid of every child;
so many battles fought and won--
still standing there, and mild.
But now, the sink is empty,
and the dishes in their place;
another meal has come and gone--
and off, the children race.
Still, she stands there humbly,
as the evening claims the day;
and seems for just a moment more,
to gaze out, 'cross the way.
She bows her head then, reverently,
(the angels gathr'ing near);
and weary shoulders, shuddering--
she sheds a loving tear:
"Oh, Father mine, please bless them,
and keep them safe I pray,
until the morning comes again--
I've done my best this day."
There are so many mothers
in this world, it seems to me
(and no one way that mothering
should ever have to be);
But all I meet will measure
'gainst this mother that I knew--
Still standing at the sink there,
precious family 'fore her view.
For Maxine, with love and appreciation. B.
Copyright © Bradley Howey | Year Posted 2025
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