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My Mother, My Friend

 

You were my mother and my friend,
Which was unusual.
Somehow our characters still blend:
Your wisdom and my will.
I turned, and you were there for me;
I spoke, you understood.
I felt cared for, but also free;
You loved, and I was good.
I’m fortunate that I was born
To someone just like you;
I love you still. Though you are gone,
You live in what I do.
–Nicholas Gordon
You were my mother and my friend,
Which was unusual.
Somehow our characters still blend:
Your wisdom and my will.
I turned, and you were there for me;
I spoke, you understood.
I felt cared for, but also free;
You loved, and I was good.
I’m fortunate that I was born
To someone just like you;
I love you still. Though you are gone,
You live in what I do.
–Nicholas Gordon

 

In Memory of You, Mom

You were a precious gift from God above,
so much beauty, grace and love.
You touched our hearts in so many ways,
your smile so bright even on the bad days.
You heard God's whisper calling you home,
you didn't want to go and leave us alone.
You loved us so much, you held on tight,
till all the stregnth was gone and you could no longer fight.
He had called your name twice before,
you knew you couldn't make him wait anymore.
So you gave your hand to God and slowly drifted away,
knowing that with our love we will be together again some day.
You were a precious gift from God above,
so much beauty, grace and love.
You touched our hearts in so many ways,
your smile so bright even on the bad days.
You heard God's whisper calling you home,
you didn't want to go and leave us alone.
You loved us so much, you held on tight,
till all the stregnth was gone and you could no longer fight.
He had called your name twice before,
you knew you couldn't make him wait anymore.
So you gave your hand to God and slowly drifted away,
knowing that with our love we will be together again some day.
–Mary Estelle

A Mother's Love

A Mother's love is something
that no on can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away . . .
It is patient and forgiving
when all others are forsaking,
And it never fails or falters
even though the heart is breaking . . .
It believes beyond believing
when the world around condemns,
And it glows with all the beauty
of the rarest, brightest gems . . .
It is far beyond defining,
it defies all explanation,
And it still remains a secret
like the mysteries of creation . . .
A many splendoured miracle
man cannot understand
And another wondrous evidence
of God's tender guiding hand.
Helen Steiner Rice
A Mother's love is something
that no on can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away
It is patient and forgiving
when all others are forsaking,
And it never fails or falters
even though the heart is breaking
It believes beyond believing
when the world around condemns,
And it glows with all the beauty
of the rarest, brightest gems
It is far beyond defining,
it defies all explanation,
And it still remains a secret
like the mysteries of creation
A many splendoured miracle
man cannot understand
And another wondrous evidence
of God's tender guiding hand.
–Helen Steiner Rice

A Mother's Tribute

Your smiles can brighten any moment,
Your hugs put joy in all my days,
Your love will stay with me forever
And touch my life in precious ways...
The values you've taught,
the care you've given,
and the wonderful love you've shown,
have enriched my life
in more ways than I can count.
Your smiles can brighten any moment,
Your hugs put joy in all my days,
Your love will stay with me forever
And touch my life in precious ways.
The values you have taught,
the care that you have given,
and the wonderful love you have shown,
have enriched my life
in more ways than I can count.

Sonnet to My Mother

Most near, most dear, most loved, and most far,
Under the huge window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,

Irresistible as Rabelais but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.
She will not glance up at the bomber or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to a cellar,
But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain
Whom only faith can move, and so I send
O all her faith and all my love to tell her
That she will move from mourning into morning.
–George Baker

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