My Mother, My Host, and friend

The poet writes a poem about his mom.

For Mary Valentine

 

I have a mother whose love is greater than all the stars above.

At a tender age, she hosted me from an embryo to maturity.

I became the apple of her eyes, her little teddy bear.

It pained her heart so much to see me cry.

She took me gently to her bosom and wiped the tears from my eyes.

The love of my mother I can’t find anywhere else.

How can I ever repay her for bringing me into this world?

She’s the reason I’m so happy, my mother, my host and friend.

Now she’s old and has lost some of her vigour and vim,

But the work of her hands still bears good fruits.

It’s been many years since I’ve seen the pretty smile on her face.

She resides somewhere in a foreign land far away.

And when she surrenders her life, may God remember her kindness.

The portrait of a beautiful woman will remain in my heart until I die.

And God, you know how much I love her.

She’s the most capable woman I know, my mother, my host and friend.

Author's Note

This poem is personal.