Remembering with love Mothers who are no longer with us

Mum lived her life for love of friends and family,

Neither asking for nor wanting a return.

Her days became a sunlit homily,

With others' joy her joy and main concern.

When we were ill, she also became sick;

When we were cut, she, too, began to bleed.

Of our oil lamp she was the wick,

Drawing her bright flame from our need.

Some say that such behavior's out of date:

That self-fulfillment is the way to grace.

But Mum, without much choice, then chose her fate,

Finding greater truth in an embrace.

She lives on in the sparkle in our eyes:

Laughing, quiet, gentle, loving, wise.

Anon

 

The U.K. celebrates mother's Day April 3rd 2011

Done