To My Mother Poem by Gert Strydom

Daily she marches at her own pace
and it's sometimes like running the marathon
to prepare food, set the table,
caring, even washing clothes
and hanging them up

and in spite of her own good
she's always willing to help,
even if it really costs her,
struggling on against the rising tide,
she's a safe haven where I hide
against the storm of life

and with every passing year
her end draws closer
and at sometimes it seems far too near
but every day we live on,
keep on aiming for the next one
and I love her and hold her dear
as if the time we have got
will never be gone.