A repost of an old poem in honour of Mother’s Day here in the UK… perhaps more poignant this year than ever…
I see my mother’s hands before my eyes
The first caress that I had ever known,
And with a thrill of wonder realise
The hands I see before me are my own.
Where did the decades go, I have to ask,
At what point did my springtime slip away?
Is this mid-summer sun in which I bask
Or has the autumn brought a shorter day?
A mellowing has softened me, I know,
Yet coloured me with richer hue and shade,
And written on my face a map to show
The world the choices I have made.
I too can read the story as I look
Of all the things of which I am a part,
The journey traced in lines upon the book
Within the mirror of an open heart.
There read the fearless laughter of the child,
The joys and grief, the lovers I have known,
The windswept glory of a heart gone wild,
The maiden’s tears, the mother’s love, the crone.
But as I journey on and turn the page
Not knowing what will come or what will be,
Or even if true wisdom comes with age,
I see adventure beckoning to me.
I know my winter holds a longer night
And seasons turn for all things on this earth,
The snowy shroud will cover all in white
That it may sleep, and there await rebirth.