Mother's Day Poem by chris schwartz

Mothers are imperfect.
Like fingerprints,
No two are alike.
Yet the love they have
For their children
Is as perfect
As the flowers
That bloom
Each spring.
Their hope for
Their children
Is that they
Bloom with Brilliance
Each and every day
And the air
From their fragrance
Is as sweet
As is May.
Just as Roses
Guild the world
With color
And slowly wilt
With time,
We never forget
The thorns of our mother
And the strong stem
That helped us
Blossom.
Nurturing us from
A tiny child.
As with any blossom
Any rose
That you showed
At the county fair
The blue ribbon
Means not much more
Than winning
A prize
Unless you hold it dear.