When Zachary’s slender hand grasps yours You lay aside your evening chores, Embarking out upon a pillowed sea. The books reclining on your knees (Yours motherhood; his history), Two spirits blend, his head leans on your arm. He doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Mom.” Seth’s plaintive cry splits pre-dawn’s calm Needing, it seems, your loving balm. His message, to the point: “Take me to Mom.” Setting the steaming mug aside You let him burrow deep, and hide, Enveloped in the solace of your warmth. He doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Mom.” Sam, snuggled in the upper bunk The drink of sleep not fully drunk Has no idea you’re already up. The mixing bowl, the flour and spice He’ll see, and lisp, “O Paradithe” And wrap two sturdy arms around your waist. He doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Mom.” Your husband rises every day And views – miraculous display – How shirts, once hampered, now hangers adorn. Somehow his bride has taught the boys, Delivered meals and picked up toys Each task accomp...
Comments
Thanks so much for stopping by my blog and leaving a comment; it was so good to find yours and read such great posts. And LOVE your blog title and description, btw. I was just thinking of your hubby not long ago. He was my student teacher one year in English at HSBC, and he was hard on me, but SO GOOD! I was sorting through old school papers and found an essay he had graded; it was full of very useful and constructive criticism. I learned a lot from him...so feel free to pass it on.:)
You have a beautiful family. Blessings on you all!
(I'm a little jealous of those 10 yrs you had under the Whitakers)
David enjoyed teaching then and even more so now!
He is a great editor, too. :-)