Happy Birthday, Amy

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 accomplished with a servant’s heart.
She doesn’t have to say, “I love you, Dear.”

Please let these meager words convey
Our notice of the price you pay;
Your treasure’s reinvested in our lives.
For God in gracious providence
With perfect timing, perfect sense,
Has planted you, our roots run deep – entwined.
He does not have to say we’re loved
We see His token from above
Revealed every day we live with you.

Good (early) Morning and Happy Birthday, Amy. Here's a poem I
wrote for your special day. While I'm sure you've received finer gifts, none has
been given from a heart that could love you more. I Love You.

David