I recall the poems,
That my mother read,
The ones she recited,
As she put me to bed.
Each stanza, each verse,
Is engraved in my mind;
Transporting me back,
Through the years in time.
I remember the softness,
And love in her eyes;
The sound of her voice,
So comforting and wise.
The paths of my youth
So often I tread,
All come back to me,
In the poems that she read.
There were great poems,
and small poems,
And some known by heart;
And some poems with wisdom,
For a young life to start.
And what she taught me,
It cannot be told.
But the poems that she read,
All come back when I’m old.
01/10/05
It seems that your mother herself was a poem. Lovely work, Gary. Warm regards, Sandra
These words are a great comfort to me. I lost my mother on my 38th birthday and she was the greatest friend I ever had.A truly lovely poem cheers Sylvie
Love it... its nice too know that some people still care about their families. Keep up the good work.
A life line within a heart of words.She'd be proud, very proud.Love Duncan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One often remember those lovely pasts when stories, books and poems were read to us by our parents. They looked like imaginations these day, but they are part of our pasts, presents and even futures! ! !