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