Mustard Seed Faith Poem by Taushell Davis

Three little hearts beat next to mine,
Each laugh a light, each tear a sign.
I carry them through storm and flame,
No riches here, but love remains.

The fridge runs low, the nights run long,
But still I hum a mother's song.
I patch their dreams with threadbare hands,
And build tomorrow from shifting sands.

Some days I break, but never bend,
I fight for joy I long to send.
Their giggles echo through the pain,
A melody that keeps me sane.

I whisper prayers beneath my breath,
For peace, for strength, for daily bread.
And though the world may test my soul,
I know my faith will make me whole.

'If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, '
The Word declares, and I believe.
'Ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence, '
And it will move, no need for pretense.

So I hold that seed inside my chest,
A tiny hope that knows no rest.
It grows in silence, fierce and true,
A promise that will see me through.

One day, a home with space to play,
Where laughter blooms and fears decay.
A porch where sunsets kiss their skin,
And peace lives loud, not locked within.

Until that day, I rise, I strive,
With mustard seed and love alive.
For I am Mom, through fire and flood—
A warrior wrapped in flesh and blood.