When headlines scream of wars,
Famines, refugees, and missile strikes
A pattern of safety- this mystery
That is you- directs my days.
I am befuddled by the very thought
Of you, and even as confusion reigns
In world affairs, you advance along
Worrisome lines, folding up old news,
Making room for your self.
I am bedazzled at the sight of you:
The way you hold your hands,
A certain crimping of the mouth,
And soft clouds of your chestnut hair...
A crown of loveliness.
Then, when I hear your voice, clear,
Like chimes against an August evening,
I know there is enchantment
On the earth today, for impressions of
Your grace have made it so.
Missing a mother's love,
She became mother to all-
Robin, child, cat or puppy dear,
Her comforting arms
Holding each ever near.
Missing a mother's care
Left no wrinkle of doubt
To mar her path of warmth...
She made smooth, secure places
For all within her heart.
Did she miss a mother's touch
And might her embraces cringe
From those less lovely than herself?
There were none unsightly 'round
The circles of her domain.
Since no mothering hands had
Prepared her charms or set young feet
On their way down life's rocky slope,
This child, grown to mother-age,
Reached out to others, giving hope.
Some folks may call them pesky weeds
Because they spread such careless seeds
Upon the hillsides, curbs, and lawns,
But think how beautiful their blooms
And how those petals lift the gloom!
