Younger Days

It was a small house made of wood  
but Mother made the best,  
doing everything that she could   
to make us all feel blessed. 

We might not have had fancy clothes  
but Mother stitched with love
each missmatched patch  — many of those,
like a gift from above.

All the scraps Mother made use of
were handled with great care
treated as if she wore kid gloves
as she mended each tear.
 
When summer breezes warmed the air
our clothes hung on the line,
Even now I can see them there
— brother’s, sister’s and mine.

Back then in Mother’s small back yard
I always felt so blessed.
It must have been so very hard 
but Mother did her best.


february 2005
©Janet Reid





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