Portrait of Mother
I see again my mother's youthful face
With lamplight glowing on her dark brown hair.
Her patient hands are mending children's clothes.
A smile is on her lips so gently-sweet
That I remember bed-time lullabies
She sang to me in that loved long ago.
How speedily those lilting years have sped!
When looking on her tender countenance
I seem to hear old church bells softly chime;
See arching rainbows over sun-kissed hills;
Hear laughing little streams that trip along.
I breathe the lingering lilac-breath of spring;
Hear sleighbells tinkle barely to be heard
As happy childish laughter fills the air;
Smell spicy sugar cookies, new-made loaves;
Feel cool, fresh sheets upon my bed at night;
An angel's kisses on my tired brow;
A gentle hand upon my head in prayer;
I stroll again through quiet country lanes;
I see old apple trees and bluebelled hills.
The American Bard