A Mother’s Work Is Never Done Poem by Daleen Enslinstrydom

In the basin the old wrinkled hands are quiet for a while
and her head is bowed in reverence
while a tear runs down her face
and if you should ask about it
she would say:

“mothers sometimes do cry
when they speak to the Lord
about their children and grandchildren.”

Although she is in her winter years
she does remember all of her summers
and the joyful time spent with her family.

She stops knitting
and her eyes wander off to the garden
without seeing a single thing
and a tear runs down her face
and if you would ask about it
she would only say:
“it’s the morning sun.”

She turns her eyes to the photographs on the wall
and intimately she knows every face.
When she does open her Bible
she bows her head in recognition
and thanks the Lord that she is a mother and grandmother
and her room seems somewhat small at times
and the retirement village cold and lonely.

With her children’s arms around her
she cries openly
and it’s evident that she is glad to see them.

Although all of her children are grown up
she still does carry them in her heart
as a mother’s work is never done
and she will carry them up to the Lord
until her dying day.