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Bright
Eyes
(For My Mother)
Bright Eyes lives with style and
grace
And a loving smile upon her face
With sadness veiled she
grieves inside
One never knows that she has cried
Her heart has broken many
times
Yet she remains the most sublime
Desiring only another’s
delight
She remains a loving acolyte
In times of trouble, pain or
need
Her help is wholly guaranteed
One need never fear to ask
For
she’s up to any task
Bright Eyes’ love is
evergreen
Will never exist unseen
Her purpose here is simple and
clear:
To her God bring others near |
Magic in My Mother's
Hands
There is magic in my mother’s hands
From
whence flows her love
A mighty river whose course runs true
And one drop of that sacred water
Poured on
painful wounds
Cleanses and leads me to my healing
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Round
Trip
I do not remember her
looking so
small,
perhaps because I have
always looked up
to my
mother.
Still, there she sat
small and sad,
feet
together, hands folded—
ever the proper lady—
yet the puzzled look
on her face
resembling that of a questioning child.
It seems that time, which allows us
to grow
in wisdom gleaned
from a lifetime of experience,
returns us to
child-likeness,
leaving us small and sad and asking
“Why?”
“Why not?” “What if?” |
