His Mom
Thought lots about my buddy’s mom –
From days of childhood, times of fun
Her eyes have sparkled in my mind,
Her smile’s continued warm and kind.I knew her by the man she wed,
Not by the words which others said,
(I knew no others who knew her
To whom I could such thought defer).Her husband was a gentle man
Who loved the land, as farmers can;
Together they raised up a band
Of kids – (my friend, you understand).For women have the brush and paint,
On plaster-casts of men create
The shades and tones we each become;
Our women painters – wives and moms.To understand a woman’s type,
A clue for us comes into sight
When we look around at all her men,
And then look back at her again.For tones and shades of manly stock,
Take on their hue in daily walk,
From mothers, sisters, girlfriends, wives,
Co-workers, friends – I realize –It’s quite dynamic, never ends –
Through generations women send
Their graceful tones – to comprehend
Just pay close heed to all their men.Some daubs of paint I see on me
Come from her brush – I plainly see
Those tones – quite precious in my life,
Like, “Quiet courage in the strife”.Not courage grim, white-knuckled way,
But warm and smiling through the day,
(What e’er her feelings in the night),
Her brush stroke, “Things will be alright”.So yes, this week I heard that news –
She passed away – which brought to view
Her men – and that’s including me –
Her painted tones abide, you see.navigation