Image for the poem mAmA 107

mAmA 107

Another Apronsong for my Mother, Blanche Medorah Cunningham Bowen    
on the 107th Anniversary of her Birth (1913 February 06)  
“Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also,    
and he praises her.”  Prov. 31:28 ESV
your eyes are looking back    
a hundred years    
although no longer can    
they see my tears    
you led me by the hand    
when I was small    
now I am vowed to lead    
you, lest you fall    
if I could smell the flow'rs again    
that nestled on your garden path    
and watch you wipe the bloody stain    
from fingers stung by red-rose wrath!    
old whispered moments    
echo in your head    
although your ears are but    
as good as dead    
the songs that once regaled    
your lyric tongue    
have ne'er my bosom failed    
since days were young    
you carried me o'er rocky trails    
and saved me from dark, sultry nights    
as strength today your bones curtails    
i'll be your bedside candlelight    
you sacrificed the milk    
of tenderness    
to woo my feet from paths    
of recklessness    
victim of hardship, you    
have struggled long    
yet facing woeful threat   
with hopeful song    
your nimble hands have fashioned dust    
to consummate sufficiency    
equal to life’s deep cut-and-thrust    
how generous your clemency!
© Copyright 2020 February 05    
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Author's Note
View visual version (copy/paste):

Mama is about 90 years old in this pic.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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