When I open my eyes on the newness of morn,
I imagine myself in my past,
With the mother I love, in the place I was born,
Where the role of my future was cast;
And I’m glad for my present–yet still I’m forlorn
For a love that is holding me fast.
Love my mother. I rise, and the mirror reflects
A face filled with the love of your eyes.
My ablutions–symbolic in many respects
Of the cleansing your caring supplies.
And I ready myself for this day, and the next,
With your spirit to silence my cries.
Need my mother. In transport, I sing me a song
That you sang me when I was a boy.
And I wistfully pine and I fervently long
For the verses that you would employ
To expel all my sadness and make my heart strong
With good cheer and affection and joy.
Am my mother. I work with an ethic you taught
Me. The standards I keep are your own.
And I succor myself with the comforting thought
That my bloom comes from seeds you have sown,
And the passion you filled me with always runs hot,
And I love you for how I have grown.
Miss my mother. I sigh at the end of my day,
Though my service was solid and true,
For I crave your communion while making my way
To a place where I�m just “making do”;
For where Mother is, Home is, I know, and I pray
For the blessings of home, and for you.
Oh, my mother. At bedtime you stay on my mind
As I drift on an ocean of sleep,
For I rest in your ken with my soul realigned
With a love that is constant and deep;
That’s the love of a son for his mother, designed
By a Lord who gave all for His sheep.