A Mother's Matchlesscharm Poem by Peter Carr Thomas

The infant cries,
And the surprise,
Has drawn the mother's stare-
As smile and kiss
The sobs dismiss,
Sweet chuckles reach my ear.

A tot finds much
In mother's touch,
Which first that soul did warm-
And in her spell
Of smiles as well,
Which first that soul did charm.

I watch with awe
From spot not far,
Straight at her gleaming eyes-
Her sweet caress
Of babe - I guess,
Makes thrills from angels rise.

No whisper slips
Between my lips,
Spell-binding scene to breach-
My grateful bow,
Out-values now,
The sweetest sound of speech.

My core is bright
With new delight
That chance to me has brought-
Never would bliss,
With depth of this,
Drift from the range of thought.

Life's vast array
Of thrills will play
On heart-strings far and near-
But mother's love
Creams up above,
Contending passions there.

A joy she gives
To toddler lives
In soul-spot warm and deep-
And mind it fills
Again with thrills,
Which from refections leap.

A sight of gifts
Her heart it lifts,
Through all of Mother's Day-
But praises will
Still minutes fill,
In months that follow May.

Peter Carr Thomas