A True Poem

 

The Blessings of My Mother

 

The image of my mother,

The folds of skin

That crease her face and hands

In the twilight of her years

Bring me to treasure more

Each day we spend

In living together,

In being together.

 

So much of life to share,

A bond so precious;

Not a day goes by

Without I am thankful

That I still have a mother

Who folds her hands

At twilight to whisper

Quiet prayers that I know

Are heard by a God

Who cares for her and me.

 

She is an inspiration

For every day I spend

Trying to make meaning

Out of life’s myriad

Experiences that sometimes

Seem less than meaningful

Because my perspective

Is not wise enough

To reach the depths

Contained in the mundane.

 

My mother is a person

Who enfolds me in her love

Using her gentle hands

To ease the passage of my days

So that I can celebrate my life

Even at twilight

When the shadows haunt me

And cause me to doubt my meaning.

 

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

© October 13, 2007

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