Mother, so oft disposed
her willing hand extended
not inclined to self indulge
nor quick to be offended
her sleepless nights
and tear washed cheeks
so countless in our youth,
she wore them faithful
week to week
from scratch to missing tooth,
with a careful touch
she tended wounds
with kind and healing hands
and whispered soft
'you'll be okay'
so we would understand
she rose up early
toiled each day
to make our joy complete
and late each night
she'd find a way
to rest her weary feet
but when morning came
she'd stir from rest
and start it all anew
with selfless zeal
she'd try once more
to do what mothers do
John R Tarter
J